Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was all Sam's fault.

With his planning and his scheming and his goddamn puppy dog eyes that look so out of place on his stupidly large body. But he knows how to work them—fucking bastard. Knows just how to tilt his head and just how much to open his lids when he stares up through his stupid thick lashes. Knows how to make his eyes just wide enough and round enough, glinting with just the right amount of unshed innocent tears that even a nun would give in, break her vows and sin.

So, when Sam suggested a trip down to New Mexico to visit Jesse and Cesar at their new horse ranch ("A vacation, Dean. A real, honest to god family vacation. Me, you, and Cas.") there was nothing else for Dean to do but give in. Oh, he wanted to fight it. Tell Sam he was tired and sore and just wanted to sleep off their last hunt with a bottle of Jack and his right hand for company, but they've been through this enough times that Dean knows the routine. He'd say no and Sam would pout, flash those eyes, and then before Dean knew it they'd be a hundred miles away from the Bunker, endless blacktop stretched out in front of them.

Groaning, Dean shifts a little on the sweat-soaked sheets, wincing at the pull of his strained muscles and groaning lowly when he settles right on top of a rather large, cold, wet spot. Next to him, Cas snores softly, his head tucked under Dean's chin. When Dean tries to move off of the wet spot Cas throws a leg over his thighs holding him in place, long lean limbs enveloping Dean like Kudzu.

"Goddammit, Sam," he mumbles gruffly. "Goddamn."

Dean definitely doesn't make it a habit to think of his brother while in bed, but right now, in this brief respite, covered in sweat and slick and come, his brain and body riddled with fatigue, all he can think about is the very detailed manner in which he plans to murder Sam the next time he sees him for ever coming up with the idea of this goddamn vacation. That is, if Dean ever makes it out of bed alive. And Chuck willing, not crippled.

Because Dean is beyond thrilled with how this stupid vacation turned out (not that he'd ever admit that to Sam), but him and Cas are on round four of who-the-fuck-knows what day (or maybe it's round five? Frankly, he stopped counting somewhere around his third orgasm) and Dean's not as young as he used to be. Fine. Fine. He's too damn tired to fight it. Marathon sex isn't exactly something he's accustomed to anymore; everything hurts, he's fucking starving, and he wants to sleep for a million years. But tapping out, unfortunately, is not an option. Not as long as Cas needs him.

"You deserve everything," Dean whispers against Cas's crown, his fingers gently brushing away the sweat-slicked hair from his forehead, pressing a gentle kiss to the warm skin. "It'll be better next time. Longer."

"'S'okay," Cas mumbles on a breath, but Dean clenches his jaw and tells himself, No. No, this is not enough for Cas. And he swears—on Baby, because he means it just that goddamn much—that when they make it back to the Bunker, everything will change. He swears to take better care of himself. Visit the Bunker's gym more often, go for a run with Sam. If he gets bold enough he'll even drink one of those foul smelling smoothies with god knows what in them, and maybe, just maybe, even eat some of that fresh green organic crap his brother is so proud of. For Cas, he'll do it all. For Cas, he'll do everything.

He kisses his angel's head once more, scratches his fingers through the unruly sex hair, a warm feeling settling deep inside knowing that he's the one who did that. Poor stamina or not, Dean knows his way around sex. Another kiss and Cas whimpers a little, frowning against Dean's chest. He's a little warmer now, Dean notices, and when Cas experimentally rolls his hips, Dean immediately knows why.

"Dean," Cas moans, soft and breathy and sweet. "It's time. I need you again, Dean. Please, I—" His fingers clutch at Dean's side, nails digging painfully into the jut of his ribs. "I need you, Dean. I need you…"

With a sigh, Dean presses one more kiss to Cas's forehead before rolling him onto his back and getting into position. Cas is ready, his hole open and slick and puffy from all the other times that Dean's taken him today. When he settles his cock against the rim, Cas whimpers and Dean shushes him.

"It's okay, buddy. I gotcha," he says, easily slipping inside. He rocks his hips slowly until he's fully seated in Cas's body, his back muscles spasming, but he works through it because Cas needs him. "Ready?"

Cas answers with a whine and a cant of his hips. "Yes."

Dean begins to rock slowly, working up to pace.

Here we go again.

Chapter Text

"Guess that hunting instinct never really goes away, does it?" Sam muses from the passenger seat, endless rose-colored desert passing them by.

"Yeah," Dean snorts. "Now remind me again why we had to drive all the way down here to Nowheresville, New Mexico?"

"It's called San Ysidro. And it's a village."

"A village?" Dean gawks. "What the fuck? No wonder I couldn't find directions. Google got me within ten miles of the place and then told me I was on my own!"

"Like I said, hunter instinct," Sam laughs. "Safe and secluded. And we're driving down here because you refuse to get on a plane. But Jesse and Cesar finally got their farm up and running and they thought we might wanna visit. Take a break. It's been a rough few months. Even out of the life they know that."

"That's it? Just a friendly visit?" Dean asks for what must be the thousandth time since Sam proposed this trip. "They didn't need something?"

"Like what?"

"What hunters usually need: help hunting something."

Sam sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "No, Dean. They do not need help hunting something. Besides, they're out of the life. Settled down."

"Yeah, right," Dean snorts, still skeptical of the entire situation. "No one ever gets out. Not really."

"They did."

"Maybe. For now anyway," Dean mumbles and he swears he can feel Sam rolling his eyes. "You sure they didn't need something?"

"Oh my god, Dean. No. I mean, what? You think I'd just send you into a hunt blind? I kinda like you being alive…"

"Alright, alright." Dean pauses and chews on his bottom lip, thinking. "But then why are we—"

Sam groans. "It's called a 'vacation,' Dean. Remember those?"

"Who the hell has time to take a vacation, let alone retire?"

"And see, this is exactly why we need a vacation in the first place. Can't even take a break and do something normal for a change without you getting all paranoid and suspicious."

"I am not paranoid."

Sam chokes on a laugh. "Okay, Bobby…"

"I'm not paranoid! I just know you, is all. Always got a million little things going on inside that big nerd brain of yours. Gotta kill two birds with one stone and shit!"

"Oh my god," Sam groans again, throwing his head back against the seat. "This is just—"

"Yeah, yeah. Just a vacation. Whatever you say, Sam. I'll believe it when I see it."

"You know what then? Suit yourself," Sam says, clearly done with Dean's shit. "But while you're wasting time looking for some big ulterior motive, Cas and I are gonna have some fun? Aren't we, Cas?"

When the former angel doesn't answer, Sam turns to look at him in the back seat where he's sat quietly for the last hundred miles. Ever since becoming human a few months back, he's had even less patience for Dean's shit than Sam. "Aren't we, Cas?" Sam asks again, frowning when he gets a good look at him. "You okay?"

Dean's alpha hackles are immediately up and he swerves a little when his eyes fly up to the rear-view mirror. "Cas? What's wrong?"

"Jesus, Dean! Pay attention!"

"I'm paying attention! What's wrong with Cas?" From the corner of his eye, Dean thinks he sees Sam's mouth twitch in amusement, but he ignores it in favor of figuring out what's happening with his best friend.

"I'm fine," Cas says after a moment, voice slightly gruffer than normal. "Just a little tired and uncomfortable from the long car ride."

Dean frowns at Cas's reflection in the rear view mirror. "You sure, man?"

"Yeah, you're looking a little flushed," Sam says, reaching back to touch Cas's forehead. The moment Sam's fingers—Alpha fingers—brush his head, the beginnings of a growl rises up in Dean's throat and he barely has the presence of mind to hide it behind a cough, because what the hell? Frowning to himself this time, Dean looks away from the mirror and takes a few calming breaths before looking back. It doesn't help. As soon as his eyes are on Sam, his brother's palm pressed firm to Cas's forehead, his cheek, the back of his neck, the rumbling erupts and he can't stop himself from biting out, "Stop pawing at the man, Sam. Jesus!"

Sam pulls back, eyes wide as saucers, while Cas tilts his head to the side in that contemplative way that has become his signature gesture. "I was just checking for a fever…"

"Well, you don't gotta feel him up to do it!"

Sam half laughs, half scoffs. "I wasn't—"

"Sam…"

"Dean," Cas says, finally speaking up again and letting out a small cough. "It's fine."

"It is not fine!" Dean snaps.

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Can you both please lower your voices? My head is… ringing. I think that's the term."

Dean and Sam both snap their jaws shut with a visible clack. "Sorry, man," Dean says after a moment, rather sheepishly. "But Sam's right. You don't look okay."

"He is a little warm."

"Fever?" Dean asks, worried.

Sam shakes his head. "No, just a little warm. Could be from sleeping."

"And I'm sure that coat isn't helping. Don't know why you even still wear that damn thing, especially out here in the desert."

"I like it."

"Well, you should take it off before you fry yourself."

Cas narrows his eyes. "I may be new to being a human but I do know how to take care of my body."

"Okay, okay," Dean says, averting his eyes from that still otherworldly gaze. "We just wanna make sure you're okay. It's not like there's a manual for this sort of thing. Believe me, I looked."

"You did?" Sam raises his brows.

Dean swallows, put on the spot. "Yeah, I mean, just seemed practical." He gives a lazy, one shoulder shrug. "We got no idea how his body's gonna react to being human. Does he have some sort of special protection as a former angel so he'll never get sick? Does he have no immune system after being rebuilt all those times? Or maybe he's got Jimmy's original immune system? I wanted to be prepared."

"Hmm," Sam hums. "Hadn't really thought of that."

"Dean is right," Cas adds, clearing his throat around the gravel in his voice. "We have no idea what to expect and something must be different about me. When I fell and all my grace was gone," Cas pauses, swallows thickly, "I thought I would revert back to Jimmy's original state, even start having heats again—"

"Jimmy was an Omega?" Dean asks, voice low, heat creeping up his neck.

"Yes. He was. But grace keeps the body in a sort of… resting state. A pause if you will. If I had just simply left him he would have picked up right back where he left off, his body restarting exactly where it stopped. It only stands to reason that the same should happen when my grace... was gone, but as you have pointed out there are many other factors to consider, such as the rebuilding of my body and my former status as an angel. There's no saying what we can expect."

Sam nods. "Well, all the more reason to be cautious then."

Cas shifts in the backseat, whimpering a little, and Dean's heart clenches. His fingers twitch and he grips the wheel until his knuckles turn white, leather creaking under his hands, battling with the desire to pull over and dive into the back seat, check over every inch of Cas until there's no doubt that he's okay. Dean clears his throat and when he speaks again, his voice is tight.

"Don't worry. We're almost there and we'll get you fixed right up. Some food and water, fresh air and you'll feel a lot better."

Twenty minutes and approximately two miles worth of dirt road later, tires kicking up dust and gravel no matter how slow Dean drives, a simple Spanish colonial style home comes into view.

"Thank god," Dean mumbles as he brings Baby to a stop, throwing her into park next to an old wooden panel style truck. "There we go."

Wincing, Dean opens his door and slowly unfolds himself, groaning when his back pops. "Getting too old for this…"

"You're telling me," a new voice says from behind him, and when Dean turns he finds Jesse smiling at him, Cesar at his side. "Why do you think we gave it up when we did?"

"Hey, man," Dean says, returning the smile and extending his hand. Jesse takes it and after a few quick pumps he laughs, pulling Dean into a tight hug, his fresh omega scent calming.

"Good to see you guys."

Dean pats Jesse's back, and when he turns to Cesar, the Alpha skips the hand shake all together, going straight for a hearty hug.

Both men repeat the process with Sam, exchanging small pleasantries, before Dean realizes that Cas is still in the car. Opening the back door he leans down and peers inside, brow pinched. "You plan on gettin' out anytime soon?" Dean jokes, trying to take the edge off his concern.

Cas nods, somewhat dazedly. "Yeah, yeah, just…" He stretches his arm towards Dean, looking up at him, and goddammit if he hasn't picked up Sam's puppy dog eyes. "A little help please?"

Dean gulps, a few beads of sweat, that are totally from the afternoon heat, running down the back of his neck. "'Course. Yeah."

Cas's palm is cool and clammy, but Dean holds it tight, not wanting to let go even when he's got Cas out of the car standing relatively on his own. Reluctantly, he drops Cas's hand, but continues to hover nearby as the man stretches and gets his bearings, and then, finally, takes off that damn coat. A few minutes of fresh air and stretching later, Cas's color is already returning to normal. He's steadied on his feet, his eyes clear focused. The knots in Dean's back untie and he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, shoulders falling down into a more relaxed position.

"See? What'd I tell ya man? Looking better already!"

"Yes, Dean," Cas says, and even his voice is back to its usual smooth rumble. "I'm feeling much better as well."

"He okay?" Jesse asks, frowning at Dean.

"Yeah, yeah. Just a little car sick or something. He'll be fine. Right, Cas?"

Cas nods, turning to their hosts. Before he can even get a word out, Jesse is pulling him in just as he did with Sam and Dean. Dean chuckles under his breath at Cas's confused noise of surprise and the awkward way he wraps his arms around Jesse. They really need to work on his people skills.

"Good to finally meet you, Cas. We've heard so much about you."

"And I, the both of you."

Dean smiles, almost lost in a fantasy that involves a lot of practice hugs when Cesar pulls Cas in, giving him a tight squeeze. Dean doesn't recall moving but the next thing he knows he's got his hand tight on Cesar's shoulder, a growl rumbling in his throat. "What are you doing?"

Hands up, Cesar slowly steps back, face a mask of calm but his scent is cautious, on alert. "It's okay. We're good, Dean."

"No." Dean shakes his head, positioning himself between Cas and Cesar. "No. It's not okay. You don't get to just—"

Sam's hand clamps down on Dean's shoulder, nails digging into the meat as Sam leans in, hisses, "What are you doing, Dean? He was just hugging him. Same as we all did with each other."

Dean shakes his head again, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, and throws off Sam's hand. "No. He doesn't get to just—to just—"

"Listen, man. I'm sorry. I was just being friendly. Wasn't trying to intrude on anything between you guys."

"What?" Dean reels back, brow pinched, the implications of Cesar's statement enough to shock Dean out of his unexplained posturing. "No, there's not—Cas and I aren't—"

"Dean's just hungry. Aren't you, Dean?" Sam finally says, giving their hosts an apologetic look. "Gets grumpy like you wouldn't believe when he hasn't eaten."

"Do not!"

"Do too," Cas mumbles, smirking when Sam, Jesse, and Cesar chuckle under their breath.

Dean, for his part, takes a moment to settle himself; closes his eyes and breathes in deep through his nose, pushing the air out through his teeth with an audible huff. "I—" he starts, but then Cas is at his side, right hand splayed over the shoulder that once held his mark. Sometimes Dean swears he can still feel it.

"Let's just go inside," Cas murmurs. He lowers his head to catch Dean's gaze and then rubs his arm soothingly, up and down, shoulder to hand, thumb circling over the soft flesh of Dean's wrist. "Have something to eat. Relax. How's that sound?"

"Yeah, okay." Dean nods, his body melting under Cas's ministrations. If he didn't know any better he'd say that Cas has a secret stash of grace. His touch has always soothed Dean's nerves in a unique way. A slight chill, like ice and peppermint, and then a sudden burst of warmth; the sun on a summer day burning him completely through.

An angel thing, a grace thing, Dean's always told himself, but in this moment, more human that he's ever been, Cas still gives him a healing touch; brings him back from the brink. Dean gasps at the sudden, unexpected sensation. Cas around him and on him. Cas filling his mind and his senses. Overloading everything.

His nostrils flare and his eyes roll back in his head as he's consumed by Cas. Woodsy with just a hint of orange blossom and honey; just the right mix of sweet and spice. Dean shudders on the exhale, not quite sure how he manages to remain standing before his hand presses into the small of Cas's back—not possessive, he tells himself. Definitely not—and they walk into the house side by side.

"Kitchen's this way," Jesse nods as he steps past the pair to lead them through the house. They follow him, Sam and Cesar at their heels, into a kitchen that looks like something straight out of a five-star restaurant.

"Whoa," Dean whistles, low, eyes gaping as he takes it all in. "I'm guessing this didn't come standard."

Cesar laughs, stepping up next to Jesse and pulling him in close, arm slung over his shoulder. "In another life, this one here would've been a chef. I wanted horses; he wanted a kitchen. Couldn't say no, 'specially after tasting his cookin'."

"So, we gonna get a chance to taste some of this food or you just plan on teasing us?"

"Dean," Cas hisses, finger digging into Dean's ribs.

"Oww! What the hell, Cas?" Dean says, giving Cas an exaggerated frown.

Cas rolls his eyes. "That did not hurt, you big baby."

"Did too!" Dean's frown deepens. Cas rolls his eyes again and Dean has a retort on the tip of his tongue when Sam clears his throat. When Dean looks over his shoulder, Sam is trying, unsuccessfully to hide his grin. "What are you looking at?" Dean snaps.

Cas jabs him again, eliciting another yelp, and this time it's Sam who rolls his eyes, sighing loudly. "I think what Cas is trying to say is that you should probably wait more than five minutes before asking our hosts to wait on you."

"I'm not—oww!" Another jab and Dean shoves away a grinning Cas, crossing his arms with pout on his face. He immediately misses the closeness but forces himself to set it aside on principle, despite how his fingers itch and twitch to pull Cas back against him and never let him go again, bury his face in the juncture of neck and shoulder and breathe him in, taste the skin over his pulse and see if it's as sweet as it smells and oh where the fuck did that come from?

Dean bites his lip until he tastes blood, focusing on the pain instead of whatever the hell just happened in his messed up head. "Whatever," he grumbles, turning away.

Chuckling, Jesse shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, guys. I already planned on cooking."

"You don't have to do that," Sam protests. "It was already nice enough of you guys to have us down here without going out of your way."

"Are you kidding me?" Cesar throws his head back and laughs loudly, eyes watering. "Just try to keep him from cooking. Seriously. He's been waiting for a chance to whip up a huge meal like this for ages. Thought he was gonna die when I told him you guys agreed to come down for a visit. He's been planning for weeks."

"Really?" Dean asks hesitantly, interested again.

Jesse grins. "Really."

"What, uh, what d'ya have planned?"

"How bout you just grab a quick bite and leave that to me?" Jesse smirks. "Don't wanna spoil the surprise."

"Surprise?" Dean raises his eyebrows and Cesar nods.

"Yeah. It's better that way, when you don't know what to expect. Kinda like seeing a movie without ever watching a trailer. No pre-conceived notions."

Dean narrows his eyes, not entirely convinced, but huffs out a "fine" when his stomach growls.

Twenty minutes later finds them hovered around the large chopping block topped island, catching up on the last few months, a platter of crackers and sharp cheddar cheese with some homemade hummus dip (that has Cas muffling groans and Dean subtly adjusting his stupid dick because seriously, what the fuck?) disappearing between them.

"Better?" Cesar asks Dean, a quick glance in his direction as he washes the platter and puts it in the drying rack next to the sink.

"Much. Thanks."

"Good." Cesar nods, drying his hands on a soft green towel. When he turns around, he catches Dean's eyes, smiling, and Dean ducks his head, sheepish.

"Uh listen, man…" He palms the back of his neck and it's slightly warm from the embarrassed flush creeping up his body and onto his cheeks. "I'm sorry about the—the—" Gulping, he gestures his free hand in front of him, forces himself to lift his head and look Cesar in the eyes. "The thing earlier. With Cas. And—and the yelling and—"

Cesar stops him, palm raised. "Already forgotten. Seriously. I know how it gets…" He lets that last part hang in the air between them, eyes briefly skirting to Jesse and then back to Dean.

Dean swallows again, thickly, because he knows exactly what Cesar means. This implication is impossible to miss. Part of him wants to protest again, tell Cesar the truth, but in this moment Dean is acutely aware that he has no idea what the truth is. His heart thumps wildly in his chest.

"Ready to see my babies?" Cesar's voice pulls Dean out of his head before full panic settles in. His brain automatically goes into cleanup mode, shoving that dangerous train of thought to the back of his mind where it belongs.

Dean clears his throat. "See what now?"

"My horses. Ready to see 'em?"

Dean grins. "Hell, yeah, I wanna see the horses!"

"Sam tells me you brought some riding gear?"

Rubbing the back of his neck yet again, Dean looks down, averting his eyes. "Maybe."

"Well, alright then," Cesar chuckles, clapping Dean on the shoulder. "Why don't you guys go get changed while Jesse and I get the horses ready?"

"Yeah, okay," Dean nods before turning to Cas and Sam. "I'm gonna go get the stuff. Be right back."

Two minutes later he's shoving bags overflowing with clothes at a scoffing Sam and a confused Cas.

"Really, Dean? Us too?"

"What's wrong with my current attire?" Cas tilts his head.

"Yes, botha ya. You can't be riding a horse in a flannel and t-shirt! It's just un-American! And Cas, you really need some jeans, man, or you're in for an uncomfortable ride. 'Sides," he pauses, the heat and nerves once again crawling up the back of his neck, but this time he doesn't hide. He gives Sam and Cas his best authoritative look and points a finger. "If I gotta wear it, then so do you."

Sam snorts. "Yeah, okay. Because someone's forcing you to dress up like a movie cowboy."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You have a fetish, Dean."

"Fetish?" Cas parrots and Dean gulps, stupid blush now coloring his face what is probably a ridiculously embarrassing shade of tomato red.

Dean snatches his bag off the floor and makes a speedy retreat. Without looking back, he yells, "Just go get changed. Made sure you both got plenty of options."

When Dean finally makes it outside, Sam and Cas are already there, leaning against a wooden post fence, as Jesse and Cesar finish saddling up the horses.

"Almost ready," Jesse calls in Dean's direction, and Dean nods, joining Sam and Cas.

Crossing his arms, Dean nods at Sam without really looking at him. "You changed."

Dean can feel the bitch-face boring into the side of his head like a drill. Sam doesn't answer and Dean chuckles, turning his gaze to Cas and gasping. He hides it with a cough, or tries to anyway. Instead he ends up hacking up a lung, eyes watering and nose running, while Cas pats him gently on the back, his touch doing more to calm Dean down than the gentle pats.

"Better now?" Cas asks when Dean finally catches his breath and stands up straight. He nods, wiping his messy eyes and nose, only just barely managing to prevent another fit at the mere sight of Cas.

He's chosen a pale green, long sleeve work shirt, with little brass colored buttons up the front, tails tucked in his jeans and held in place by a rather large bull head buckle, horns and all, that Dean definitely only purchased as a joke but Cas somehow makes work. The jeans, dark wash and slightly worn, were an impulse purchase at a secondhand store. Dean hadn't been sure at the time what made him grab those particular jeans instead of a new pair—because Cas deserved new things, nice things—but something about them called out to Dean and now he knows what. Because Cas—goddamn fucking Cas—wears those things like they were made just for his body.

Tight in all the right places, hugging the round curve of his ass, showing off those powerful, thick thighs, that Dean has the sudden urge to have wrapped around his waist. And against one of his thighs, outline just barely visible is a slight bulge that can't possibly be what it looks like. But then Cas shifts, adjust himself slightly and Dean barely has the sense of mind to keep from drooling all over himself because yep, that's Cas's dick, thick against his thigh and now clearly visible through those wonderful, wonderful blue jeans that Dean doesn't remember making a demon deal for, but hell if he didn't, because there is just no possible way for anyone to look that good in a pair of fucking pants, ex-angel or not.

He gulps, Adam's apple bobbing in his now dry throat and takes a shuddering breath because what in god's name is going on here? That makes two times in one day he's caught himself perving on his best friend when in eight years of friendship it's never happened once—at least he doesn't think so. His brain is so occupied with all the sinful things he wants to do with Cas—do to Cas—that he can't think clearly.

He gulps again and licks his lips, eyes making a slow journey over the planes of Cas's body, top to bottom, heart threatening to leap out of his chest by the time he's staring at Cas's face again… blue, icy eyes staring back.

For a moment their eyes lock and they just stare at the other, lost to the world until Dean can't take the scrutiny of it anymore, can't take the all-knowing look in Cas's eyes.

"Nice belt," Dean says flicking one of the horns, his voice slightly tight as he tries to change the subject.

Cas hums, booted foot toeing at the dirt for a long breath before he looks up, catching Dean's eyes again. Dean sighs, relieved, the intensity from only moments earlier is gone. "Is it customary to wear a blanket?"

Looking down at his body, Dean frowns, quirks his head to the side in a very Cas-like manner, confused. He's wearing a simple button-down work shirt, long sleeved and identical to Cas is all but color. Dean's is a rich blue, decorative stitching on the shoulders, and little silver buttons down the front. His shirt is also tucked into jeans, held up by a plain, leather belt, and his pant legs covering the shaft of his well-worn cowboy boots.

"What?" he asks, still frowning when he looks back up at Cas.

The man's lips twitch, just slightly, right at the corner, a smile threatening to break free. And that's when it hits Dean. The last time they'd played cowboy, when they needed Phoenix ash to defeat the Mother of All and Cas had sent them back to the wild west, Dean, wearing a serape, had tried a little too hard to dress the part. Bobby and Sam had teased him—the fuckers, though they had been right—and Cas, per usual, just called things as he saw them. But this Cas is not that Cas, the jaded Angel of the Lord, blinders on to all but his own agenda. This Cas is softer, more thoughtful, and a goddamn sarcastic bastard.

"I hate you," Dean mutters, shoulder checking Cas as he pushes past. The slight movement sends a waft of that new, mouthwatering Cas smell in his direction. It takes all his willpower to hold his breath, to not inhale that intoxicating scent and throw Cas against the nearest wall, press his nose to that long neck and scent him forever.

And what the hell is up with that? Is Cas's body finally coming out of its resting state? Maybe he's going to present Omega like Jimmy apparently was and all those new hormones and new scents he's putting off are just messing with Dean's head. Damn biology. But even so, even if that is what's happening, Dean's never lost his cool like this over an Omega before.

He shakes his head and throws the question away for now.

"So, what do we got?" Dean asks, clapping his hands together and then scowling at the gruffness of his voice.

Cesar pats the white horse at his side, smiling as he loving strokes her flank. "This here's my baby, Salt-n-Burn. But I call her Salt."

"Seriously?" Dean laughs and Cesar shrugs.

"Was drunk when he named her," Jesse pipes in, petting his own light brown horse. "Said she looked like a ghost out here at night but that he couldn't call her that because ghosts are things you gotta get rid of: 'Gotta salt-n-burn 'em!' And then he realized she was the color of salt too and it just kinda stuck."

"Well, I like it," Sam says as he walks up next to Jesse's horse, holding on his hand for her to sniff.

"This pretty girl here is Cinnamon." Jesse gives her another loving pat then nods his head toward two other horses, behind them, reins tied off on a post. "You're gonna be riding Harley, Sam. He's the black one. And that white and brown painted girl is for you, Dean. Name's Abby."

"Why do you get the shiny black one with the cool name, bitch?"

Sam rolls his eyes, already running his hands over Harley's mane, making friends. "Because Harley's the biggest horse and I'm the biggest one of all of us, jerk."

"Shuddup."

"Besides, what's wrong with Abby? She's beautiful."

Dean sighs, approaching the painted girl slowly, waiting until she leans her face against his palm before he scratches behind her ear, smiling. "Fine. Suppose you're right," Dean concedes, and that's when it occurs to him. Still scratching Abby, he looks over his shoulder at their hosts, brow furrowed. "Where's Cas's horse?"

"I don't know how to ride a horse, Dean."

"What, not something they taught you in angel school?"

Old Cas would've informed Dean, in no uncertain terms that angels do not have schools, but this Cas rolls his eyes. "I plan to explore the property while you ride. Jesse keeps some bees over by the garden."

"No way, Cas. Ride now, bees later. It's not that hard. I'll teach you."

"Dean—"

"Come on, man. Pick a horse."

Cesar clears his throat. "That's gonna be a problem."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Only other horse we got broken in enough for riding is healin' from an injury. Got herself tangled up in some barbed wire and ended up with a nasty infection on her leg. When he heard there weren't enough horses Cas here volunteered to stay behind."

Dean gapes at Cas. "No, man."

"Dean, I told you it's fine. There are bees and—"

"Nope." Dean shakes his head, approaching Cas and squeezing his arm. "Not having it. Everyone needs to ride a horse at least once in their life. Come on. You can ride with me."

Cas gapes, eyes opening wide in shock, Sam not even trying to hide the stupid choking sound he makes behind them. Without turning, Dean flips him off.

"Ride… with you?"

"Yeah. Sit in front of me and I show you the ropes of it all, make sure you don't fall off."

"Are you—are you sure?" Cas gulps, stepping a bit closer into Dean's personal space and just like that it's there again. The hot prickly flush creeping up his body—chest, neck, cheeks. His breath catches in his throat, drawing in that intoxicating, earthy, pure Cas scent and if Dean didn't know any better he'd say it's stronger now, thicker, more potent. Dean's fingers flex, pressing into the muscle and pulling Cas closer, eliciting a gasp. Before Dean can stop himself, before he even knows what he's doing, he leans in, buries his nose in the soft hair just above Cas's ear and inhales, eyes rolling back in his head.

"Yeah, Cas, I'm sure," he whispers, low, warm breath ghosting over Cas's ear. Cas shivers and Dean nuzzles him, gets drunk on his scent. "Hey, hey now. Don't be scared. I won't let anything happen to you. I'll hold you real tight. How's that sound?"

And Cas whimpers—goddamn fucking whimpers—and that's it. That's fucking it. A growl rises up in his throat and he tightens his hold on Cas and he's about half a second away from sinking his teeth into the creamy skin of Cas's throat, so beautiful and so tempting. Slowly, almost as if on instinct, Cas tilts his head, exposes the long line of his neck, pulse beating so rapidly that the vein bulges.

Dean sticks out his tongue and licks a long wet stripe, Cas gasping, hands flying to the back of Dean's shirt and gripping for purchase before Dean latches on. He sucks, hard, then bears his teeth and grazes the thumping vein, applies just the slightest bit of pressure, testing the give of the skin.

"Catch," Sam calls, and then something's flying at Dean's head, throwing him off balance and detaching him from Cas.

He stumbles backward a few steps before he catches his footing, furious eyes darting around and landing on a rather amused Sam. Cesar and Jesse have discreetly turned their backs.

"What the hell?" Dean snaps and he's not sure if he's asking Sam or himself because holy shit, he just felt up Cas. Scented him, licked him, nuzzled him and—Dean gulps, throat scratchy as sandpaper—almost fucking bit him in front of God and his brother and Jesse and Cesar in the middle of a goddamn horse barn. What's worse is that deep inside, Dean knows if Sam hadn't stopped them it would have gone much further than a bite. Dean would have claimed Cas. Mated with him. Bent him over the nearest surface and fucked him until they both passed out.

Nothing about this is right and not a fucking bit of it makes sense. Dean's losing his damn mind, his libido is in super overdrive and like a teenager in rut and he just fucking needs. It's only natural he's drawn to Cas, he reasons with himself. He's the only other unattached, unrelated person around.

For a fleeting moment Dean fears he's under some sort of spell or curse, but then he remembers how Sam spent months on the phone with Jesse and Cesar, working and reworking the best and most effective protection sigils. The only place in the damn country safer than this ranch is the Bunker so, no, it can't be something supernatural, but it's gotta be something.

Although, it has been a while since he's had any proper alone time, he considers; nothing more than a rushed jerk off in the shower at one shitty motel after another between an endless string of jobs. Could it be something that simple? Maybe. Probably. It makes more sense than anything right now, so he better get on this shit next chance he gets before he finds himself humping Cas's leg like a damn dog.

"You forgot something, Dean," Sam says, grin completely taking over his face as he nods towards Dean's feet. "Most important part. Or so you told me 137 times in the store when you insisted on buying one for each of us."

"Huh?" Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, still a bit dazed, before looking down to see the cowboy hat at his feet. He snatches it off the ground, his mood immediately doing a 180. "Gimme another one of those."

Dean makes a grabbing gesture with his free hand while he puts on his own hat, grinning. Sam throws him another hat and Dean catches it, promptly settling it on a frowning Cas's head, adjusting it a little until it sits just right. "There we go. That's a good look on you, man." He winks at Cas, unconsciously palming his cheek and grazing his thumb on the scruff that's starting to grow there. "Nice peach fuzz."

Cas looks down, blushing, but doesn't pull away. Instead he leans into the touch, warm cheek to warm palm, and sighs. When he finally looks up through his fluttering lashes, the change is instantaneous, clear realization that they're doing it again, whatever it is. Cas looks at Dean and Dean looks at Cas and then they're jumping apart like they just touched fire. And maybe they have.

Dean's palm burns, a bone-deep sensation that doesn't hurt so much as ache. He turns his hand over a few times, back and forth, examining it for any signs of injury but finds none. He's almost certain he imagined it all but he finds Cas with the same puzzled expression on his face, fingers flutter just above his cheek as if he's afraid to touch.

"Umm," Dean says as he palms the back of his neck, swallows thickly. "Shouldn't we get going before it starts to get dark?"

Cesar pats Salt's flank and then puts one foot in the stirrup, grips the saddle horn and lifts himself, throwing his other leg over her with practiced ease. "Ready when you are." Dean pretends to ignore the smirk on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm ready," he grouses. "You ready, Cas?"

"I guess?"

"You're ready."

"Whatever you say, Dean," Cas murmurs, compliant. And if that strokes Dean's alpha ego then no one needs to know but him.

Taking Cas by the hand, Dean leads him to Abby, shows him how to approach her, let her sniff his hand and get used to him before he gets closer. Abby takes to Cas right away, nuzzling and licking his hand, bumping her head against his shoulder until Dean feels a pang of jealousy… over a fucking horse.

This is getting out of control, he scolds himself, eventually having to resort to pulling Cas away before he does something supremely stupid. "Alright, alright. We're wasting daylight here. Lemme help you mount her."

Cas gives Dean a skeptical glance that says he's still not on board with the whole idea but that he's doing it for Dean's benefit so he better fucking appreciate it. "What do I do?" he sighs.

"Go ahead and put your foot in that thing there. That's the stirrup." Cas slides his left foot in and silently asks for the next step. "Okay, now grab a hold of the horn, that part sticking up in the front there." Once again, Cas does exactly as Dean instructs and then waits. "Good, good. Now, I'm gonna get a hold of your hips and help you up. On my count you're gonna jump and then swing your foot over her body. Got it?" Chewing his bottom lip, Cas nods. "Alright. One, two, three! And up we go!" Cas gets it on the first try, throwing his leg over Abby's body and settling into the saddle as if he's been doing it for years. "Shit man! That was great! You sure you've never done this before?"

"Maybe once. Or twice…" A smirk plays at Cas's lips, eyes shining bright when he looks down at Dean under the brim of his hat. "Three times."

Dean narrows his eyes trying his damnedest not to smile but the way Cas is looking at him makes his insides all fluttery and he can't even find it in himself to pretend to be offended. Instead Dean shoves at Cas's hips, forcing him further ahead in the saddle, both men finally letting their grins free. "Move your ass. Gotta make room for me, you bastard." Cas sticks out his tongue and Dean allows himself a brief moment to wonder what that muscle tastes like, if it's as spicy and sweet as the rest of Cas.

Clearing his throat, gruffly, Dean mounts Abby with ease and immediately regrets every decision in his life that brought him to this exact moment. He knew, objectively, that sharing a horse with Cas would mean close contact, he just hadn't considered how much. Cas grunts as Dean shoves in behind him, their bodies flush, Dean's front touching every inch of Cas's back.

Dean shifts in the saddle trying to get comfortable, to put just a fraction of space between him and Cas, but all he accomplishes is wedging his half-hard cock into the crease of Cas's ass. "Jesus Christ, this is a tight fit," he moans, making one last failed effort to dislodge his dick from a place it definitely should not be right now. "Maybe we should've gone bareback."

At their right, Sam snorts. "I think the answer you're looking for is lube, Dean. You can never have enough lube." And with that, he eases Harley into a steady gallop, laughing as he follows Cesar and Jesse into the distance.

Groaning, Dean drops his head, rests his forehead in the juncture of Cas's shoulder and neck. Another bad decision. He groans again as that new, intoxicating scent floods his nostrils.

"Dean?" Cas asks, concerned.

Dean lifts his head, shakes it. "Nothing, Cas. Nothing." He takes a fortifying breath.

It's going to be a long ride.

Chapter Text

It's sometime around two hours later when they make it back to the ranch house and Dean is vibrating out of his skin. His ass is sore from riding, his mouth dry with thirst, and both his brain and body are ready to give out. He's been balanced on a knife's edge of sexual frustration the entire ride—his need to touch and taste, claim and fuck and worship so visceral it takes all his strength to hold back. One move in either direction is a recipe for disaster.

He manages to hold off but only barely, his bone-deep need finding release in rudeness, which Dean realizes belatedly is probably the only thing masking the scent of his arousal. By the time they make it back to the house he's managed to piss off all four of his companions. Sam all but wrestles him into a cold shower to cool his attitude before he does something stupid, like punch a hole through the wall… or brutally fuck Cas over the dining room table until he screams Dean's name.

He jerks off in the shower, rough and fast, dirty, using only water. He strips his cock until it hurts, until he's red and raw and he's whimpering, begging for release. But then he only grips tighter, teases himself—punishes himself—until his knot begins to swell. With his free hand he grabs it and squeezes, eliciting a sob, and he bites down on his bottom lip, digs his teeth into the delicate flesh, tasting blood.

It's the only way to silence his cries. The only way to atone for what he's doing, for his sin. For the filthy, obscene things he envisions doing to Cas, to his best friend—to a fucking former angel. Dean is unworthy of such beauty and grace, and for that he must suffer, because Cas deserves more; more than a lowly hunter with only violence and death and darkness to offer.

He comes with a muffled whimper, teeth still buried in his lip, Cas's name in his mind like a prayer. It's filthy and unsatisfying, his hand and cock and thigh covered with his sticky release. When he finally comes down from his high and takes in the mess, he heaves, stomach lurching into his throat.

He's disgusting and he hates himself.

Weak, he slumps against the wall and slides down the cool title to a sitting position, knees automatically curling towards his chest. He sobs and lets the spray cleanse his body.

~~~

The meal is everything Jesse promised. Dean's on his last bite of warm, strawberry rhubarb pie, homemade French vanilla ice cream pooling on the plate and dripping down his fork and chin, before he's fully aware of his surroundings. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he swallows, savoring the combined flavor of sweet and bitter on his tongue while he listens.

"But what's it been like, seriously?" Sam asks, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "Retiring. Settling down. Any regrets?"

Cesar chuckles as he throws back a shot of whiskey. "Regrets? Hell no. Has it been different? Did it take some time to adjust? Yeah of course, but we never planned on hunting forever."

"Wasn't what either of us wanted," Jesse adds, somber. "Catch the thing that got my brother, help other people along the way, and then get out."

Sam and Cas nod. Dean scoffs. "Yeah. 'It's not forever. Just one more hunt.' Fucking hunters' party line. Ask Sam how well that turns out."

Dean ignores Sam's glare and pours himself two fingers of the whiskey, gulping it down. The burn in the back of his throat and his nose somewhat masks the ever present aroma of Cas (so thick now he can practically taste it) but doesn't eliminate it. He hopes two more fingers will do the trick but the scent is still there stronger now than before, he'd bet his life on it. Gritting his teeth, he pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes through his mouth. How the fuck does no one else notice? Why is he the only one tormented by Cas's scent?

He stifles a laugh deep in his throat, which turns into more of a choking sound. Of course it's only him. Of course. Leave it to the universe to punish him in this way, to break him down bit by bit through sexual frustration, to make his best friend fucking irresistible. Cas is the only person in this universe besides Sam who he actually loves (he stopped fighting that one when he stopped fighting chick flick moments) and he's three seconds away from ruining it with his dick. It's poetic justice, really, for all those people he fucked and left, for the men and women he used and never loved. How else was this ever supposed to go?

"That's not the same thing," Sam says into the echoing silence, breaking the spell. "It's different. We're different."

Dean snorts as he reaches for the whiskey again. "Yeah? And how's that?"

"It just is, Dean."

"Naw, not good enough. Explain it to me." Dean takes a long swallow from his now full glass and sets it down. He spreads his arms in question and when Sam keeps his jaw clenched tight, Dean puts both palms flats on the table, leaning forward. "'Cause the way I see it, we're all the same. You ever met a hunter who got into it for the fun of it? Fuck no! It's because our lives are fucked and we lost someone and we wanna kill the son'a bitch that did it!" Dean sucks in a ragged breath. "So, you go out and you research and you hunt and you find out there's a helluva lot more bad out there than you ever could've imagined, and by the time you finally get that thing you've been searching for your whole damn life you realize that's not why you're doing it anymore. You're doing it because you can't not!"

Jesse's lip quirks, a sad and thoughtful sort of smile. "Until one day you just… can."

"Just like that?"

"It's not like we're oblivious. I mean, we read the paper every day. See the weird stories …the kind of stuff we used to chase."

"And you say what? 'Not my problem'?"

"Yes." Jesse says simply. "And you know what? The world's still going."

"And you know why that is?" Dean spit out. "'Cause me and Sam and Cas and all the other hunters out there who're still doing out damn job while you sit here and—and—and what?" Dean splutters. "Grow organic produce and raise bees? Can cook lavish meals and ride horses off into the fucking sunset?"

Cesar leans in now, elbows on the table and hands folded in front of his mouth, eyes narrowed at Dean. "It's not only up to you to save everyone," he says lowly, and Dean wants to laugh. He's had this conversation before, with Sam shortly after returning from purgatory. A conversation so similar to this one that if Dean didn't know any better—

He rounds on his brother. "Sam?" he asks, voice breaking.

"Dean…" Sam says slowly, soft, coddling.

"You said this was a vacation."

"It is a vacation—"

"Only a vacation. You said this was only a vacation."

Sam swallows, shaking his head frantically, pointing. "No. No, that's not what I said. I said that we weren't coming down here to hunt anything. I never said—"

"Goddammit, Sam!" Dean pounds his fist on the table and the silverware rattles, his glass of whiskey tipping over and spilling on his pants. Jumping to his feet, cursing, his chair falls to the floor with a clatter. "So, what is this, huh? An intervention?"

"No, Dean. It's—"

"'Cause it sure as hell looks like it to me!"

"Dean—"

Dean advances on Sam, shoves his shoulders once, twice, three times and Sam's back hits the wall. Gasping, eyes wide with shock, Sam pushes back, but Dean pins him in place with his, a forearm across his chest. "So, a hunting intervention. That's what this is? Let's show Dean how wrong he is about settling down—"

"What the fuck, man?"

"—show big dumb Dean how easy it is to get out and shop for fucking produce while we just ignore everyone in need—"

"No one's asking you to ignore anything!" Sam struggles under Dean's hold and manages to get the upper hand, throwing Dean off balance. For a second they wrestle against the wall, hands grabbing, pushing and pulling, before Dean, fueled by his rage and frustration, gains back control.

"And then, and then—now here's the best part, Sam! So listen the fuck up—"

"What's your fucking problem, man? You've been acting weird all day. Calm down and get the hell off of me!"

"—when I refuse to give in and give up, you'll leave me, every fucking one of you. You'll leave me!"

Sam reels back, gasping, eyes and body immediately softening. "No. No, Dean, never—"

"Were you in on this too?" Dean snaps, rounding on Cas. "Were you—" He stops short, breath caught in his throat as he takes in the scene: Cas at the table, shivering and pale, curled in on himself, Jesse and Cesar on either side trying to comfort him. "Cas? Cas, what's wrong?" Without a second thought, he releases his hold on Sam and rushes to his best friend's side.

"I'm—I'm—" Cas swallows roughly. "I think the fever is back."

Dean cups Cas's face, a palm on either cheek, thumbs wiping away his tears. "Yeah, Cas. I think you're right," Dean says, reaching around to palm the back of his neck. On instinct Dean leans in, pressing his face to one cheek and then the other, ending with a kiss at Cas's temple. Cas shivers and Dean holds him closer, lips brushing his hairline as he murmurs, "Let's get you to bed. Get you comfortable and get that fever down. Sound good, buddy?" Cas whimpers and nods weakly as Dean helps him to his feet, one arm wrapped protectively around his waist.

Turning, Dean finds his hosts stern faced, worried, and Sam massaging the soreness from his muscles. Dean grimaces and averts his eyes, embarrassed. "Dammit. I did it again, didn't I?"

Sam snorts. "You think?"

"I'm—listen I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry." He gulps, swallowing the lump in his throat. "It's just Cas has never been sick before and—and—"

"Dean, it's fine," Jesse says, softly. "We get it. You're worried about your friend and it can make you do stupid things. You shoulda seen, Cesar here last time I cut myself working out in the garden. I mean, we used to sew up bullet holes and claw marks with floss and there he was freaking out over a little cut!"

Jesse smiles fondly, dipping his head and Cesar elbows him, but he's smiling too. "Shuddup."

Dean smiles too and gives Cas a little squeeze. "I should get him to bed. Where can he lie down?"

"We've got two spare rooms." Jesse motions towards the hallway. "He can take either one."

Dean tightens his hold on Cas and takes a few steps towards the hall before it occurs to him. "Two rooms?"

"Yeah."

"And how many beds?"

Cesar clears his throat and calmly says, "Two. That a problem?"

"No, it's fine," Sam says, still working out the kinks in his muscles from his fight with Dean. "I'll take one room and Dean and Cas will take the other."

Dean's heart jumps into his throat. "What?"

"What's wrong, Dean?"

"Why do you get your own bed?"

"Uhhh," Sam holds out his hands and gestures to his body from head to toe. "Have you seen me lately? I barely fit in a regular bed on my own."

"I already had to share a horse with him!" Dean says, regretting the words the moment they leave his mouth. Cas stiffens in his arms and tries to pull away but Dean refuses to break his hold.

"Sharing the horse was your idea, Dean."

Cas clears his throat weakly. "I am right here."

"Sorry, Cas," Dean frowns. "I just—"

"It's alright. I know you like your personal space." Cas pushes away from Dean, shivers, and nearly falls over when he's forced to stand on his own. "I'll just sleep on the couch. It's a little small but it'll work well enough…"

"Wait. What?" Dean's first instinct is to protest. He's absolutely intoxicated with the thought of crawling into bed with Cas, scenting him and comforting him, curling up behind Cas's lithe body, holding him in his arms and never letting go; but the one thing that Dean knows right now while nothing else in the world makes sense, is that getting into bed with Cas is a bad, bad idea. He grits his teeth, forcing back the desire and his instinctive alpha protectiveness. "Are you sure, man? Because I'll get you set up real nice and comfy out here—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. He's sick!" Sam shoves Dean, nearly knocking him over, and then turns to Cas, right hand extended. "You're not sleeping on the couch. Come on. You can sleep with me. I'll make room."

"No!" Dean growls, hand instinctively flying out to catch Sam's wrist, nails biting the sensitive flesh. Hissing, Sam yanks his hand away.

"Fuck is wrong with you right now?"

Dean stares wide eyed. "I don't—I don't know. Sorry, man."

"Well, you better figure it out 'cause you're startin' to scare me…"

You and more both, Dean thinks. Maybe his rut is coming on early? All the stress of the trip and Cas getting sick? Whatever it is, Dean doesn't like it and how it's making him act. He needs to get a grip on himself and soon.

Sam narrows his eyes and observes Dean closely. "Sure you're okay to bunk with Cas because—"

"Cas can't sleep with you, you Sasquatch. You hog the covers. And snore. And fart."

"What the—"

"He'll sleep with me." Gulping, Dean pulls Cas in closer, hand splayed possessively on his hip. Cas whimpers and plasters himself against Dean's side, tucking his head into the crook of Dean's armpit, nuzzling and scenting. "You'll sleep with me. That okay, buddy?" Cas nods. Dean kisses the top of his head and brushes the sweat damp hair from his forehead. "So, where's the room?"

"Down the hall there. First door on the right," Cesar says, eyes narrowed. Cesar points to the right, eyes narrowed, observing. Dean's fingers twitch protectively on Cas's hip. "There's fresh sheets on the bed and clean towels and washcloths in bathroom."

"Alright. See y'all in the morning." Dean nudges Cas's forehead with his nose, coaxing his head upward. Cas blinks rapidly. He eyes are clouded, pupils blown wide, and Dean swallows. "Ready, buddy?"

Cas responds with a whimpered, "Yes." Dean carefully helps him to his feet and down the hall to their room, locking the door with a snick behind them.

Cas is shivering and slightly out of it by the time Dean helps him settle on the edge of the narrow bed. Immediately, Dean kneels in front of him, hands touching everywhere, head and neck, shoulders, softly dancing down Cas's arms to his wrists where Dean thumbs at the soft skin, savors the thumping pulse and then takes his hands. Lifting them to his mouth, Dean kisses the back of each one and then every knuckle, one after the other, with slow, wet, open mouth kisses.

"You're burning up. Let's get you undressed, okay?" Cas tries to nod again but the motion sends him into a trembling fit. On instinct, Dean wraps him in his arms and holds him close, comforts him with touch and softly murmured words. Cas melts into it, buries his face in Dean's neck and mouths at the skin, lips wet and open. It's an electric shock to Dean's system. He twists his fingers in Cas's hair and holds him in place, lips hot on his neck. Cas gasps but continues to mouth at the skin, tongue poking out to wet his lips and lap at the sweat over Dean's pulse point.

 It takes every ounce of his willpower to pull away and help Cas undress. Dean strips him quickly and efficiently, refusing to let his eyes or hands linger on the tanned skin. Cas is slightly flushed and full on shivering when finally Dean gets him down to his black boxer briefs

Dean gulps, loud enough for Cas to notice and glance up, brows furrowed and questioning. "Just went down the wrong pipe. I'm fine," Dean says, palming Cas's cheek. "Let's get you under the covers and I'll go grab a cool washcloth for you head. How's that sound?"

Cas nods once, carefully, and Dean helps him to lie back, slowly pulling the bedding out from under him and covering him with the thin top sheet, comforter bunched at the end of the bed for later. Dean wets a washcloth in the connected bathroom but Cas is already dozing fitfully when Dean returns. He sits on the bed next to Cas and gently cleans the sweat from his face and neck and shoulders.

In the bathroom, he rinses the washcloth in the sink and returns with another clean, cool cloth, rolling it up and pressing it to Cas's forehead. When Cas sighs in his sleep, a pleased and more peaceful sound, Dean undresses and crawls into bed next to him, careful not to lay too close for both his and Cas's sake. Dean falls asleep on his side, eyes trained on Cas until the very moment he's pulled under.

Chapter Text

Dean dreams of campfires and tiny roadside diners without enough ventilation, of that weekend dad left him and Sam at a lakeside cabin when Dean was fifteen and stupid and careless, convinced he was immune to sunburns despite Sam's constant nagging. He ended up with sun poisoning, lobster red and covered in blisters, and they were forced to stay at the cabin an extra week while he healed, much to John's displeasure.

Gasping, Dean wakes violently, his body burning and for just a moment he swears he's right back there in that cabin, his poor skin screaming in pain. He whimpers slightly as his eyes flutter open and adjust to the darkness, focusing on the body next to him in the bed. Cas, his brain supplies, and that's all it takes to bring him back to reality. The sunburn was a vivid dream but he's sweating his ass off.

"What the fuck? They tryin' to cook us in here?" Dean mumbles, throwing the covers off his body, only to discover that Jesse and Cesar have not in fact turned on the heater in the middle of summer. He frowns, rubbing at his tired eyes and tries to get his brain in gear. The bedroom is pleasantly cool on his damp skin and he shivers when he twists and stretches his back, working out the kinks in his muscles from a night in a bed that doesn't remember him.

Dean uses the bathroom and washes his face and torso with a damp cloth because he's too damn tired to rinse off in the shower. Back in the bedroom, Cas sleeps soundly and Dean smiles, his stupid insides getting all fluttery the longer he stares.

Just hungry, he rationalizes, frowning, and he really should eat something but fatigue wins out. It's still dark outside and all he wants to do is slide back into bed and sleep for several hundred years, Cas at his side. Besides, that stupid unexplained sweating took all the energy out of him. Back in bed, covers at his feet, Dean leans over and kisses Cas's forehead. He jumps back, gasping, lips on fire.

"Cas?" he whispers, his voice wavering and cracking loudly in the too quiet room. When Cas doesn't answer, doesn't even make a move of acknowledgment, Dean reaches out a tentative hand. His fingers tremble as they make contact with Cas's forehead. He's dripping with sweat, hair soaked and plastered to his burning skin. "Cas?" Dean asks again a little louder, brushing the wet locks from Cas's forehead. A shiver runs through Cas and he curls in on himself, knees to chest in the fetal position as he fights the quickening tremors.

"Cas!" Dean says yet again, this time clasping his shoulder and shaking him until he blinks awake, eyes cloudy and far off. Dean exhales, shaky, and leans closer, running his hand over Cas from head to shoulder in a repetitive, soothing motion. "Yeah. There we go. Gotta wake up, buddy."

Cas closes his eyes briefly and frowns, before peering up at Dean, hissing at the slight movement. "Dean?" he slurs, eyelids blinking rapidly. "What's—what's happening? I'm so—so—" He's cut off by another torturous shudder that makes his teeth clatter and Dean's heart ache. "I'm cold," he whispers after a moment, swallowing thickly. "And I'm warm. What's—what's—"

"It's called a fever, Cas. Congrats," Dean says with a weak laugh. "You're officially human."

Frowning again, brows pinched, Cas burrows back under the covers, leaving on his face visible. "How do I—" A gulp. "What do I do?"

Dean smiles fondly. He's concerned, of course, but there's just something about seeing Cas like this, so frustrated, so human, and—Dean will make another demon deal before he ever says it aloud—so damn cute, that his insides turn to goo. "Just leave that to me, buddy," Dean murmurs. And then he's pressing his lips to Cas's forehead in chaste kiss, nuzzling at his hairline and subtly scenting him.

It's only when Cas whimpers and shifts closer to Dean, hand reaching out blinding to paw at Dean's bare shoulder that his upstairs brain kicks in and holy shit. Dean pries himself out of Cas's hold, much to the man's displeasure, and makes a mad dash for the bathroom. He closes the door with more force than necessary turns the cold faucet to full blast, sticking his head directly under the spout. Dean gasps and splutters as the icy water covers his flushed skin but he forces himself to stay in place until he regains control of his body.

When he finally manages some semblance of control, he stands up and turns off the water. Head facing downward and hair dripping into the sink, Dean clutches the edge of the stone vanity, knuckles white. He's afraid to look up, to see his own reflection in the mirror and confirm what he already knows: that's he's flushed from head to toe, his pupils are blown all to hell, and he's painfully hard and leaking in his boxers. Apparently his downstairs brain staged a coup on his upstairs brain because he's a loser and a fucking pervert who can't control himself around his (sick!) best friend.

But how could you not? A voice, most likely his damn downstairs brain, oh so helpfully supplies. How could you not with the way Cas smells?

It's earthy and rich, with just a little orange blossom underneath. Maybe honey too, but not that sickly sweet stuff in those cute little bear bottles on every table, in every diner across the whole damn country. No, there's something deep about it, layered (like Cas). A soft sweetness and spice (like Cas). There's something that lingers in the nose and on the tongue, explodes on the palette and invades the body, taking over every cell until it's impossible to know where Dean ends and Cas begins, because by this point it's buried so deep under his skin (just like fucking Cas) that there's no way to ever separate the two. Not that Dean would ever want to.

But he shoves it down. He grits his teeth and splashes enough cold water on his skin to forget that his dick was ever hard or that he ever felt this way. With a long, slow exhale, Dean finally releases his death grip on the counter. His fingers ache and twitch as he wets a washcloth under the tap, wincing a little when he wrings it out.

In the bedroom, Cas is a human burrito under the comforter, his brow still pinched in pain and a small frown turning down his dry, cracked lips. Even in this state, Dean finds it difficult to hold back. It's all he can do to drop the rolled up washcloth onto Cas's forehead and make a break for it before he acts on one of the many ways his brain is cooking up about exactly how to lubricate those poor lips.

He spends a few minutes in the kitchen cataloging the pantry supplies. Cas will need to eat soon, whether he wants to or not, and Dean knows just the thing. Smiling, he puts a put of water on the stove to boil and collects the rest of the ingredients on the chopping block counter. He'll apologize to Jesse and Cesar later for raising their pantry but he thinks they'll understand. While he waits, he snags a plastic mixing bowl from one of the cupboards and adds a few handfuls of ice before filling up the rest with tap water.

The fantastic Cas scent hits him like a brick wall when he reenters the dim bedroom and despite breathing through his mouth, he drools. Biting his tongue to stave off a whimper, Dean unwraps a grumpy Cas from his nest and maneuvers him onto his back, the blankets pushed down around his feet exposing his entire body save for the thin pair of boxers. Dean gulps, his suddenly desert dry throat clicking as his eyes rake the toned planes of Cas's body.

He's wondered more than once in the past if angel mojo did more than give Cas awesome powers and keep him from needing to eat or sleep or bathe. If somehow it changed the physical body in a way that made it more pleasing to the eye. That had to be it, right?

Because Dean's seen pictures from before, from when Jimmy was just Jimmy, untouched by an angel's grace; then he met him once after, when Cas was forced out during the apocalypse and Jimmy's soul was still in his body, not yet in Heaven. And Dean doesn't even have to think about it to know that the guy just never did it for him.

Cas though, is another story. He's viewed Cas differently from the very beginning, always known that Cas wasn't his vessel. That Cas was more, bigger. That Cas was just… Cas.

And maybe, just maybe, Dean thinks, heart thumping in his ears while he busies his hands with wetting and wringing out the cloth, that's the reason. Maybe it has nothing to do with Cas being an angel and everything to do with Cas being Cas.

Dean sucks his teeth. Loudly. He's trembling when he finally gets the cool rag on Cas's body and begins to wipe his down. Dean clenches his jaw and keeps his movements methodical, runs the ice-water drenched cloth over Cas's entire body. The whole process is clinical and precise, only one goal in mind: bring Cas's temperature down.

His hands don't linger longer than necessary on the angle of Cas's jaw where a (ridiculously sexy) layer of peach fuzz is growing in. He doesn't gently tilt Cas's head to the side, one way and then the other, lengthening the line of his neck, and run the rag up and down the tendons while imagining using his teeth and tongue instead.

When the rough edge of the rag catches on a nipple it's a mistake, as is Dean's reaction. The whimper Cas lets out through his now red-bitten lips doesn't affect Dean at all. He keeps his composure, breath even and slow, hand and cloth and eyes tracing the line of Cas's muscular chest in a way that can only be described as clinical.

Or so Dean tells himself as he wipes Cas down from head to toe, over an endless expanse of tanned skin and toned muscles, Cas moaning and arching and twitching sporadically. It's the only way he'll make it through this. And he must make it through because Cas fucking needs him.

Later, Dean can hate himself for his reactions, how he can't stop his breath from hitching and his pulse from racing and his goddamn dick from filling just at the sight and scent of his best friend. And Dean will hate himself, it's one thing he knows for sure. Cas is his best friend, his fucking family, and he's sick and hurting and probably scared out of his mind but Dean can barely hold it together enough to take care of him. He's the worst fucking human in the history of the universe. He's always known it; now he has proof.

This is how Sam finds them sometime later, Cas splayed out on the bed, whimpering and moaning, the first hints of sunlight glistening off his sweat damp skin as Dean continues to wipe him down.

"Dean?" Sam asks, concern in his voice. "What's going on?"

Dean hums, turning to Sam with a bleary eyed gaze, covering a yawn with his free hand. "Yeah?"

"What the fuck, Dean?"

"What?"

"What's in your—do you have cotton balls in your nose?"

"Hmm?" Dean hums again, dropping the rag on Cas's forehead and stretching out the cramps in his back. He's not entirely certain how long he's been at this but judging from the pain in his muscles and the sun peaking around the curtains, several hours have passed… not that it's made a difference. If anything Cas's fever is worse and his scent… Dean shudders. God.

Unconsciously, he touches his nose, adjusting the cotton. "Yep. Got a problem with it?"

"Uh no…" Sam raises a brow. "But why?" he asks, taking one step into the room. His nostrils flare and he glares at Dean, thoughtful but with a hint of concern. "What—"

"Cas is sick," Dean says as calmly as possible but he's losing the battle. Dean's hackles raise with each step Sam takes. His muscles tense and something primal, visceral, burns deep in his gut. He swallows down the initial instinct to snap at Sam but it does little to help his body's unconscious reaction. Dean adjusts his position on the mattress, positioning himself more firmly between Sam and Cas, a barrier of sorts. "Had a fever all night that won't go down. We're both sweatin' like pigs and I got tired'a smellin' it."

Without looking at Sam he reaches for the bowl on the nightstand and stirs the contents, brings it close to Cas and lifts the spoon to his lips. "Come on, buddy. You gotta eat. Just take a bite. For me. Please."

Sam sucks in a breath. "Is that... tomato rice soup?"

"Shut up," Dean says. He keeps his eyes trained on a flushed feverish Cas, refusing to look at Sam, because he knows what he'll find on his face, in his eyes, and his heart can't take it, not right now.

Jaw twitching, he makes one more attempt to get Cas to eat. After a few more failed attempts, Dean huffs out a sigh, turning to set soup back on the nightstand. The small twist puts what can't be more than an inch between Dean and Cas, and for the first time in hours, Cas reacts.

It happens between the space of two breaths. One second Dean is upright on the edge of the bed, legs dangling over the side, Cas prone and whimpering behind him, and the next he's flat on his back, Cas tucked against his side half on top of him, nuzzling and scenting Dean's neck.

"Don't leave," Cas whines in his ear, low and rough, the first coherent words he's spoken all night. "I want you here with me, Dean. Need you here." Ever so slightly he rolls his hips and yep. That is totally Cas's dick, hard and wet, poking Dean's thigh.

A violent shudder races through Dean's and just like that, the desire he's worked so hard to resist is back in full force. He gulps loudly as he slowly turns his head toward Cas. "Uhh… Cas," he begins, voice tight and low. "What, uhh—what are you—are you okay?"

Two things happen in quick succession after this. The first is innocent enough: Sam takes a few more steps into the room, tentatively making his way toward the bed where Cas is attempting to climb Dean like a tree. Dean doesn't have to turn his head to know Sam is closer to the bed, closer to Cas. He can hear him, smell him, another fucking Alpha too nearby and that's when the second thing happens, when Dean finally breaks.

Growling, he launches from the bed and into Sam's space faster than he's ever moved in his entire life. Sam may be larger, taller, even stronger in some ways, but right now, Dean's running on pure alpha instinct: protect, protect, protect.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Dean growls through clenched teeth, his entire body vibrating with adrenaline.

Sam holds up both hands in surrender. "Nothing, Dean. It's all good. Everything's good. But I've been talking with Jesse and Cesar and we don't think Cas is sick." His nostrils flare again, the hinge of his jaw twitching as he throws a quick glance at Cas. "And now that I'm in here I know we're right. Dean, Cas is in—"

"Don't you fucking look at him!" Dean hisses, shoving Sam's chest much like he did the night before.

"Dean…" Sam tries again but it's no use.

He shoves Sam again. "Get the fuck out! Out, out, out!" he growls, punctuating each word with another shove until Sam is outside of the room.

Dean slams the door and turns the lock, slumping forward, head pressed to the wood. His ears are buzzing, he's panting and wheezing, and his heart is pounding, threatening to fly right out of his ribcage like the guy from that damn cartoon case years back. Taking a wobbly step away back, Dean runs both hands down his face and laughs. It's weary at first, the fatigue from a restless night caring for and worrying about Cas, but it quickly becomes something else, and before Dean knows it he's bent in half, hands on his knees giggling—fucking giggling—like a crazy person.

Because that's exactly what he is; he's crazy, lost his damn mind. He just freaked on his brother full on alpha style for absolutely no reason at all, forcefully removed him from the room and locked him out, and for what? To protect Cas? To protect Cas from Sam—Sam!— of all people!

The fatigue must be getting to him, that's the only explanation: fatigue induced mania or some shit. His head is spinning and his whole body hurts. He needs to lay down, make sure Cas is fine for now and then try to get a few hours of shut eye.

It's a solid plan but it flies right out the window along with the last vestiges of Dean's sanity when he finally makes it back to the bed. That's where he finds Cas, face down whining and moaning, hips going to town on the mattress. Dean gasps on an inhale, shuddering so violently that his legs nearly give out.

The entire display is filthy and obscene and Dean's cock throbs, pushing out a bead of pre-come, but none of that is why Dean's breath catches in his throat, why his pulse races again and he's so light headed he swears he'll fly away.

Here, at the ass crack of dawn on a random summer day, at a horse ranch in the middle of fucking nowhere as golden light flickers around curtains and kisses Cas's sweat slicked skin, Dean realizes two things that will change his life forever:

1) Cas is the most beautiful being he's ever seen

2) He's in love with Cas, and he has been for a very long time

Panic rises from his stomach up into his throat, sour with bile, because shit. Holy. Fucking. Shit. This is so much more than a big fat crush, so much more than thinking Cas is hot (and holy fucking shit again. He thinks Cas is hot!). This is… this is huge and life changing and something he can't ignore anymore no matter how much he desperately wants to, and fuck if he doesn't want to because this… this is… Dean gulps, heart fluttering and breath spastic, unable to even think the word again let alone say it.

He's gonna pass out. He's gonna lose what's left of his mind and pass out and fucking die right here on the floor in Jesse and Cesar's house next to the bed where a feverish Cas is about to blow his load everywhere and—

The knock on the door is the only thing that holds off his panic attack and certain death, because just like that, once again on an instinct Dean doesn't understand, his hackles are up. Alpha mode fully engaged. From zero to sixty in three seconds flat.

"Uhh, Dean?" Sam calls from the other side of the door.

Dean growls. "I thought I told you to get the fuck out!"

"You did. And I'll stay out, Dean, but uhh, but we—"

"We need to what?"

"We need to talk."

"Yeah. No, thanks. Go away, Sam!"

"Dean?" another voice asks, soft and low. Dean opens his mouth, ready to tell whoever it is to fuck off, but he can't bring himself to do it. An unexpected wave of calm washes over him with the timbre of the voice.

"…yeah?"

"It's Jesse," the voice says and Dean's body relaxes even more. "Is it okay if I come in?"

Dean clears his throat, thinking, and nods to himself. "Uhh yeah. You can come in… But only you!"

"Only me."

"Okay. I'll unlock the door."

With shaking hands, Dean turns the lock and opens the door enough from Jesse to squeeze through. Once he's inside Dean slams the door and locks it again, turning to lean his back against it, an extra barrier for entry.

Jesse claps Dean's shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze, smiling softly. "I'm going to check on Cas, see how he's doing. That okay?"

Dean lets out a shuddering breath and nods once, curt.

"Cas?" Jesse says calmly as he approaches the bed. "It's Jesse. How are you feeling?"

Cas answers with a whimper and a particularly forceful thrust against the mattress, resulting in a deep moan that sends a shiver through Dean's body and turns his knees to jelly. Gulping, he digs his nails into his thighs to keep his composure as Jesse sits down on the edge of the bed and lays his hand on Cas, checking his temperature.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asks, his voice dry and raspy. "His temperature won't go down and he's just getting worse." Jesse doesn't answer as he continues to methodically check Cas. The silence only feeds Dean's panic. "Is he—is he gonna be okay? He's never been sick before and we have no fucking clue what that means for a former angel." More silence. "Just tell me he's gonna be okay, man." Dean's voice cracks but he's too scared and keyed up to care. "Please."

Standing, Jesse sighs and turns to Dean. "Yeah. He's going to be just fine."

Dean rakes his fingers through his hair. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Thank fuck," Dean says on an exhale, a little more tension bleeding away. "So what's he have? How do we make him better?"

Jesse pauses ever so slightly before answering. "Well, see that's the thing, Dean. He's not actually sick."

"What?"

Jesse reaches for the door handle and Dean's instincts kick in again. "What are you doing?" he snarls, clutching Jesse's wrist painfully. "Don't let them in!"

"Dean, it's okay. Relax." Jesse places his palm on top of Dean's hand, thumb circling soothingly. He trips his head and doesn't speak again until he catches Dean's eyes and holds them. "They'll stay outside but we need to talk. Can I open the door so we can talk?"

The hinge of Dean's jaw twitches and he closes his eyes. Without opening them again, he exhales through his mouth and nods. When the lock snicks and the door creaks, Dean's eyes fly open, panicked, but as Jesse promised Cesar and Sam stay outside.

"So," Sam says, a hint of concern in his voice. "What's the verdict?"

Jesse glances from Sam, to Cesar, and then back to Sam again and nods.

"Holy shit," Cesar mumbles, not so subtly scenting the air. "We were right, Sam."

"Right about what?" Dean asks, using his body to fill the open doorway.

"Cas. He's..." Sam pauses, clearing his throat and averting his eyes.

"Jesus fucking Christ. Will someone just tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Cas presented, Dean. He's in heat."

"…what?"

"He's an Omega and he's in heat."

"What—"

"Oh my God, Dean. You've been acting like a psycho since last night. Thought you were gonna take my head off when I came in the room earlier. Don't tell me you didn't notice, that you can't smell him. He's—he's—" Sam gulps and turns his head, embarrassed.

"I—I—" Dean stutters, trying to wrap his foggy brain around everything. Cas presented. Cas presented and he's an Omega and he's in heat. Dean rakes a shaking hand through his sweating hair. "I mean I started noticing something with his scent yesterday. That he smelled really fucking goo—different. That he smelled different. And I know I've been kinda keyed up—"

Sam snorts, rolling his eyes. Dean gives him another death glare and Sam raises his hands in surrender.

"But I drove all the way here and we rode horses and then I was up all night taking care of Cas. I'm fucking exhausted, man. You know what happens when I don't get my four hours." Gulping, Dean chances a glance over his shoulder at Cas only to quickly snap his head back. If it wasn't bad enough that Cas is humping the mattress like it's his fucking job, at some point he apparently decided to put his hand in his boxers and that's just about all Dean can take. "Presented. An Omega. I—I mean are you sure?" Dean doesn't like the way his voice wavers and cracks, or how his cock jumps with interest. He pulls the door shut.

"Positive. He's producing slick," Jesse says, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip. "Pretty recent though, maybe the last half hour because there's not enough to make a mess, but he's definitely producing it."

Dean's head is swimming. "I—I—but what? I don't understand. Why didn't I—"

"For fuck's sake, Dean." Without preamble, Sam yanks the cotton balls Dean forgot he was wearing out of his nose and that's it. Goodbye world. That's all she wrote. It's pine and petrichor, spice and ozone. It's earth and orange blossom and Cas and Dean's not sure how he manages it, but he hurls himself from the room and slams the door, shaking and panting. He's dripping with sweat, soaked through to the bone, every nerve is his body on fire, vibrating with want and need.

Protect. Mine.

And no. No. Fucking no. He can't ever, especially not now, not with Cas like this, not with the way Dean feels. A whole new wave of panic runs through him as he recalls his eureka moment from what feels like a lifetime ago but was probably more like a few minutes. And way to go, Dean. Good fucking job. Of all the times to have a life altering revelation.

"Fuck. Fuck! What do we do now?" Dean mutters to himself.

"We can't just leave him like that. Especially not his first heat," Jesse says. "I can tell you that for sure."

"So, what then? Toys?" Dean asks, gesticulating wildly, his panic rising. "I'm sure you have toys he can borrow, right?"

"Well, yeah, but…" Jesse pauses and bites his lip again, crossing his arms in front of his chest and avoiding eye contact.

"But what? Let's go get 'em!"

Cesar clears his throat. "It's not that simple."

"Fuck you talking about?"

"Dean," Sam begins, slowly. "Have you ever been with an Omega in heat before?"

"Yeah. 'Course," he shrugs.

"Their first heat?"

Dean narrows his eyes. "I never had the occasion. What's it matter?"

"You know how bad a regular heat is right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, a first heat is even worse. And who knows how Cas is gonna deal with going through it now instead of as a teenager."

"Get to the fucking point."

Sam exhales and squares his shoulders, looks Dean directly in the eyes. "Toys aren't gonna be enough."

"What?"

Sam sighs again. "I said—"

"I know what the fuck you said! But what exactly does that mean and what are we supposed to do about it?"

Jesse moves closer Dean, and when he touches his shoulder Dean doesn't stop him or flinch away. "There's a… service of sorts in town…"

"A service?" Dean gulps.

"Yeah. Surrogates who volunteer to help unmated Omegas through rough heats. Or in some cases… their first heat." Jesse lets his words hang in the air, the room so silent Dean's ears ring.

"No!" he half yells, half growls, his black plastered to the door with arms and legs spread out protectively. "No fucking way!"

"Why not?" Sam asks.

"Why… Why?" Dean asks through a fit of laughter that sends tears down his face. "Ya'll have lost your goddamn minds if you think I'm gonna let some other Alpha, especially a fucking stranger, anywhere near my—anywhere near Cas!"

Sam's lips twitch but he holds firm, completely unaffected by Dean's death stare. "Well, it's not really your decision. It's up to Cas."

"You go deaf or something? I said—"

"No," Cas suddenly interrupts, voice pained and gruff but steady, loud enough to carry through the closed door.

Dean reacts immediately, pinching his nose and breathing through his mouth, opening the door just enough to see inside and answer Cas. "What was that? 'No'? No what?"

Cas swallows and through a shuddering exhale says, "No service."

Closing the door, Dean turns around with a self-satisfied smirk. "No service."

"We can't just leave him like this," Sam says, frustrated.

"Hey. You're the one who just said it's his choice and Cas said he doesn't want the damn service." Dean shrugs. "He'll just have to make do with toys."

"Well," Sam begins and then pauses, backing away from Dean. "I've helped an Omega through their first heat before."

"Me too," Cesar adds.

"What…wait." A heavy silence follows as Dean narrows his eyes, glaring back and forth between the two men. "Are you—tell me you are not suggesting what it sounds like you're suggesting or I swear to god!"

"Dean…"

"No! Neither of you are…" he gestures his hands wildly around in front of him, adding a few not so subtle gestures for emphasis. "You're not doing that with Cas."

"And why the fuck not, Dean? He's our friend, he's family, and he's in pain. He needs help." Sam slaps his thighs, frustrated. "Someone's gotta do something because toys are not gonna be enough and unless you're volunteering, we're pretty much shit outta options here!"

"I—" Dean starts and then swallows, throat clicking painfully. Of course he's thought about it before, being with Cas like that, touching him and caring for him and taking him apart with pleasure, but it was always hypothetical. Nothing but drunken musings at the end of a long day, after a difficult hunt, his hand his only comfort and darkness the only witness. His body thrums at the possibility of turning his fantasies into reality, fire shooting through every nerve ending. He wants. It's a horrible fucking idea but his downstairs brain just laughs.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

"Wait… are you?" Sam asks carefully, almost coddling. "Volunteering I mean?"

"Well," Dean crosses his arms in front on his chest and pauses, nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm volunteering. Got a problem with that?"

"Uh no, problem here. You guys got a problem?"

Jesse and Cesar shake their heads and shrug.

"Well, okay then, Dean, but we still gotta ask Cas. He's gotta be the one to choose."

"Dean," Cas calls weakly.

Dean immediately opens the door again and pokes his head inside, this time without plugging his nose. "Yeah, buddy. What is it?"

"Dean."

"I'm here. I'm listening."

"No, I—" Cas shudders, turning his head towards Dean and catching his eyes. "I want you, Dean. Please help me."

There's nothing to think about. "Go get the toys, Jesse," Dean says, hurrying into the room. It's only once he's inside, door closed and locked behind him, high on Cas's scent, that it all sinks in. He is so totally fucked.

Chapter Text

"Dean, you don't understand—ahhh yeah. Riiiight there! A little harder, a little harder… Yeah, yeah just like that," Cas whimpers as Dean thrusts a knotted dildo into his well-used hole. It's been two days already. Two days of fucking Cas with fake, plastic dicks; two days of watching him moan and writhe, eyes rolling back in his head, skin flushed and damp, smelling like fucking ambrosia and nectar as he spills his load all over his chest, again and again and again.

Two days of Dean getting off in the bathroom alone, biting his lip bloody to keep from yelling Cas's name.

"It's not enough," Cas says again, for what Dean swears is the millionth time since they took up refuge in this bedroom. "The toys help. You here helps. But it's just not enough."

"You're gettin' off like fifteen times a day. In what world is that not enough?"

"The number of times I get off a day is not necessarily correlated with my level of satisfaction."

"Aww, Cas. How touching." Dean pulls the toy all the way out of Cas, a punishment of sorts for his smart fucking mouth (his kissable fucking mouth) but per usual, it backfires. Dean can't decide which he likes more: Cas's hole stretched wide around a thick toy, or empty, gaping and fluttering, totally fucked out and shiny with slick.

He bites his lip. It probably feels good in there, warm and wet, tight, despite its use. It would be so easy to replace the toy, to just throw it aside and pull his cock out of his damn boxers already and shove inside. He could do it. He could do it right fucking now and Cas wouldn't object. He's been begging for days and Dean's wanted to for days and it's the best idea and the worst idea all at once, because if Dean gives in, even just a little, he won't come back from it. Once he knows how it feels he won't be able to live without it—won't be able to live without having Cas like that—and everything will be ruined.

Dean bites his cheek, hard, enough to taste copper, and shoves the toy back inside of Cas, nailing his prostate perfectly, before his imagination and hormones get the better of him. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel..." Dean mumbles.

"I feel like I want sex. Like—oh, shit do that again—like I need sex."

Dean's jaw twitches. "We already talked about this, Cas."

"We did nothing of the sort. It was a unilateral decision on your part that I still do not agree with."

"Cas… please." Dean clenches his jaw tight enough that his teeth squeak, trying desperately not to sound like he's begging. "Please, don't ask me again."

"Why not?"

"Because," Dean huffs, twisting and rotating the toy, an attempt to fuck the questions right out of Cas. "If you ask me again I'm not gonna be able to say no, alright? So, just fucking leave it, Cas. Jesus!"

Cas shivers. "And what's wrong with that?"

Everything. Everything's wrong with it, because you mean so much to me I can't comprehend it and losing you would kill me. But Dean doesn't say any of that. He averts his eyes and concentrates on the mission: Take care of Cas. Get him through his heat. Make him feel good. Don't give in.

Cas's frustrated sigh turns into a moan as Dean pounds his prostate with the dildo, hoping to distract him with yet another orgasm, but Cas is undeterred. "You could at least tell me why."

"Why what?"

"If you won't have sex with me, you could at least tell me why."

"It's just," Dean groans, shaking his head because it's been two fucking days and he's out of excuses and nearly out of will power. "It's a human thing. You wouldn't understand."

"In case you've forgotten, I am human now. So, try me."

"It's just… it's not the sort of thing friends do, okay?"

Cas, the bastard, manages to snort, then laugh, then go right back to moaning without missing a beat, his hips rolling rhythmically to meet each thrust of the toy. "And making them come repeatedly by fucking their ass with a knotted dildo is?"

"Fucker," Dean mumbles, unable to hold back a small grin. "It's… this is different. I'm helping you because you're my friend and you need me."

"What I need is for you to fuck me."

"You can't just say things like that!"

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because it makes you want to do it, doesn't it?"

"Cas…" Dean warns.

"Makes you want to pull that toy out of me so you can slip inside instead. Come on, I know you want to."

"Fuck you."

"Yes, please."

"Shut up."

"You can't lie to me, Dean, even if you tried. I've touched your soul, held it inside my grace on the way out of hell, rebuilt your body, atom by atom…" Cas trails off, sighing, eyes rolling back in his head for a moment, pink lips parted, a flush high on his cheeks. "I know every part of you that ever has and ever will exist. I know you, Dean. Better than anyone. Better than you know yourself. And you know what I know right now? "

"Shut up, Cas."

"That you've been hard for days. And don't think you're fooling me when you 'excuse yourself' to the bathroom between rounds." He chuckles, opening his eyes and smirking. "I can smell your arousal and your release. How do you think I've been able to come some many times since—"

"I said shut the fuck up!"

Dean jumps back, dropping the toy. It slips from Cas's body with a wet squelch and Dean grimaces, breathing heavily. Cas whimpers, hips pushing back against nothing, and Dean has to look away, get himself under control—his breathing, his body, his goddamn hormone infused brain—before he does something he'll regret.

Cas whimpers again, this time almost a whine. "Dean? Where'd you go?"

"I'm right here," he sighs. "Don't worry. I didn't leave you and I'm not gonna. Not unless," Dean swallows, thick, worried. "Not unless you want me to. Do you want me to?"

"No, no, Dean. I want you to come back. Please come back?" Turning his head, Cas frowns, and goddammit! Leave it to newly human, former Angel of the Lord, sass-master Cas to perfect the art of innocent puppy dog eyes while still managing to look utterly fucked out and debauched. Dean never stood a chance.

"Yeah, okay." Shaking, he scoots forward and picks up the toy, pressing it back into Cas's hole. Cas sighs and Dean works the toy slowly, carefully, giving Cas what he needs while also working to maintain his control. But Cas is having none of it. It's not long into Dean's rather vanilla usage of the dildo that Cas groans, frustrated, slaps the bed with both hands and pouts.

"That all you got?"

Dean raises a brow and thrusts faster but Cas just groans again.

"Come on, Dean. Harder. If you're not gonna use your dick then at least fuck me properly with that damn toy. I'm not gonna break!"

"Harder?" Dean huffs, desire burning in his gut. He's got a firm hold on his control again so he might as well have a little fun. He chuckles lowly. "I can do harder... But are you absolutely sure that's what you want?"

"Am I not speaking English? Yes, Dean. Harder. I'm absolutely sure."

Dean smirks, twisting the toy on the next inward thrust. "Okay, Cas. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Gritting his teeth, Dean picks up the pace. He fucks the toy into Cas at a brutal rhythm, nailing his prostate on each thrust, Cas moaning and whimpering, back arching. Dean grips his hip and bears down, holding him on the bed and refusing to let him move. That's gonna bruise, Dean thinks in passing, and he knows he should let up his hold because seeing his mark on Cas will only make this worse, but he can't help himself. He's stupid and selfish and if this is the only way, the only chance, that he'll ever get to make Cas his then he's gonna take it and make it last. And Cas is begging, after all.

So, Dean digs in, nails biting at the sensitive flesh leaving bright red crescents. Cas hisses and whimpers, tries to roll his hips and fuck himself on the toy but Dean refuses him, holds him tighter and harder, fucks him rougher because Cas is begging for more. He's getting into this just as much as Dean is and before long they're both panting and breathless and Cas comes, shaking violently.

"Dean… Please," he begs, gasping. "I need more. I need you."

And screw it, Dean decides as he watches Cas come apart yet again, painting his stomach in ropes of white and somehow looking more beautiful each time it happens than the last. Fucking screw it.

Dean's a grown fucking man and he can damn well hold back his feelings, especially for Cas's sake. It's what he should've done all along, but he's a selfish, selfish bastard, more concerned with Cas finding out how he feels and losing his best friend than with doing what's best for him. But not anymore, never again. From now on, Cas comes first, in every way.

"Hands and knees," Dean growls, finally—finally—throwing the damn toy aside and pushing down his boxers, his cock heavy and leaking. Cas gapes at him, lust blown eyes opening wide, hopeful but hesitant.

"Hands and knees," Dean says again, clapping Cas's already bruised hip with one hand and fisting his own cock with his other. "Now. Before I change my fucking mind."

 Hissing, Cas scrambles onto his stomach, pushing up onto all fours. He's no sooner steadied himself before Dean's shoving him face down on the mattress, head turned to the side with Dean's fingers twisted tight in his hair. Cas mewls and Dean uses his knees to spread Cas's legs further apart, revealing his red hole, puffy and shiny, gushing sweet smelling slick.

"Fuck," Dean moans, squeezing the base of his cock so he doesn't come right then and there all over Cas's back. He huffs out a few ragged breaths to get himself under control and then he's lining up, the purpling head of his cock right against Cas's loose ring of muscle.

"You ready, Cas? You sure?" Dean asks one last time.

"Yes, I'm fucking sure. Just fuck me already. Please!"

It's now or never, Dean thinks and then he's pushing inside.

He holds Cas steady the entire time, one hand in his hair, the other on his bruised hip, and gives him what he needs, what he begged for. It's frantic and filthy, slapping skin and undignified moans and grunts. A sprint to the finish line, a means to an end. Nothing more.

Dean doesn't let up, not when Cas comes apart beneath him, shaking and calling out, and not when Cas falls prone on the bed, his legs giving out with his release. It's only when Dean's knot swells, catching on Cas's hole with each thrust that Dean pulls out, and with a shaking hand, finishes himself off, painting Cas's back.

Spent, Dean collapses on the bed next to Cas, fighting to catch his breath.

"You didn't knot me," Cas mumbles after a while.

"No, and I'm not gonna." Dean grunts, arm thrown over his face, thinking. He chews his lips and laps at it with his tongue. "How do you feel? You okay?"

"I assure you, I am more than okay." Cas chuckles, lazily, sighs. "But the knotting—"

"Not happening." Dean turns on his side away from Cas and squeezes his eyes shut. "Wake me up when you're ready to go again."

And so they settle into a routine: fuck and sleep, rinse, repeat. The days blur together in a haze of sweat and fatigue, the passage of time marked only by each frantic fuck and the occasional sandwiches and glasses of water that appear on the nightstand, courtesy of Jesse, while they sleep between rounds. They don't talk about it, what they're doing or what it means, what will happen after. It's almost clinical in nature and Dean's grateful. It makes it easier to not think about it, easier to not feel.

It's on day four, when there's more time between rounds, when the sex is less urgent and they don't fall asleep after each orgasm, that Cas breaks the silence.

"I want you to knot me."

"No fucking way!" Dean gasps, head snapping in Cas's direction.

Cas shrugs, off handed, like he didn't just suggest Dean spill his load inside him. "But I want you to."

"What—I—no!" Dean pushes away from Cas and sits up, running his trembling hands down his face. He almost made it, he almost fucking made it, but Cas had to go and open his goddamn mouth, and ask Dean for the one thing that Dean can't give him, no matter how desperately he wants to.

Cas sighs, annoyed. "And why not, Dean? You want it, I want it—"

"You don't want this, Cas, not really! It's just the heat talking and you're not thinking straight, man. The sex… that was one thing but this… this is—"

"I may not be able to control my body right now and I may not have been able to articulate myself properly, but I have been more than capable of rational thought this entire time: all through my fever and my heat coming on and the last several days of sex."

"Cas…" Dean rubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes his head. "This isn't up for discussion."

"Why?"

"You're in heat, Cas, and I don't know what to think. How am I supposed to know that you mean it for real? That you're actually clear headed and all that shit?"

"I could solve a series of partial differential equations as proof if you'd like," Cas deadpans. "Or perhaps explain the meaning of life and the universe? Which has a lot more to do with the number 17 than with the number 42, just to clear up a few misconceptions…"

Cas manages to hold his stoic expression long enough that for one fleeting second Dean's there again, in that barn, lights flashing and popping, meeting Cas for the first time. He shudders. They've come a long way since then, Cas more human than angel long before he ever lost his grace. Dean's just about to revisit his "secret store of grace theory" when Cas finally breaks, his lips twitching, betrayed by his humanness.

"Okay, smart ass," Dean laughs. "I believe you now, it's just that, why didn't you say anything before?" Dean stops and swallows thickly, thinking. A weight settles deep in his gut. "When I was trying to bring down your fever or feed you or make you comfortable. You didn't say a word then, but now you're telling me you were perfectly clear about everything happening around you, everything happening to you. That you knew. All that time and you didn't…" Dean's lip shakes and he's forced to pause to keep his voice from breaking, all thoughts of knotting abandoned for the time being. "You must've been in so much pain… I could've helped you sooner."

"This is not on you, Dean."

"That's not… I just… I don't understand why you didn't tell me."

"Well, like you, I assumed I was just experiencing my first human illness. I only realized the truth of the matter right before Sam did."

"And what's that got to do with anything?"

Cas purses his lips and averts his eyes.

"Cas."

"It's not of import."

Dean glares at the side of Cas's face until he eventually gives in.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, halfway hiding his face behind a pillow. "I didn't want you to think me weak."

"What?" Dean says, shocked, more a statement than a question.

"I didn't want to disappoint you, to make you lose faith in me. If I'm unable to handle a run-of-the-mill human sickness then how can I be trusted as a hunter? How can I protect you and Sam?" Cas opens his eyes now, vulnerable, glistening with unshed tears. "What value am I?"

"Cas…"

"I used to belong to a much better club. And now I'm powerless. I'm hapless, I'm hopeless."

Dean's heart clenches with sudden understanding. "Is that what you really think? That we've only kept you around for your powers?"

"Of course," Cas balks like it's common knowledge, fact. "Why else would you do it?"

"I mean I'm not gonna lie, your mojo's come in pretty handy over the years—"

"As I've stated. So, perhaps when this is over I could reach out to my brothers and sisters and find you another angel, one who still has their powers and would be willing to—"

"Fuck those winged dicks and their powers."

"But Dean—"

"Stop!" Dean cradles Cas's face, one hand on each side, and presses their foreheads together. "Now you listen to me, Cas, and you listen good. Your powers were useful, sure, but man, in terms of value… Well, let's just say if I had to make a list, your powers would be at the bottom. You're worth so much more than any powers. Always have been, and you know what?"

Cas swallows. "What?" he whispers.

"Bottom of the ninth, and you're the only guy left on the bench... Sorry, but I'd rather have you, powers or not."

A tear runs down Cas's face and Dean wipes it away, thumb softly swiping over his broad cheekbones. When more tears break free, Dean kisses them away, leans their head together and holds Cas until he settles.

"I've never knotted anyone before," Dean whispers into the scant space between them, eyes closed. This is dangerous, vulnerable territory. But Cas was honest with him, open. Dean owes him the same regardless of where it goes.

"Never?"

"Never."

"Let me guess. That's another thing friends don't do," Cas murmurs as he snuggles in closer and tangles their legs together. "Like friends don't fuck, right?" He playfully bats and Dean's feet with his own, not yet realizing the gravity of the situation.

"No," Dean whispers after a pregnant pause, his voice raw even to his own ears. "Not like that at all."

Cas frowns against Dean's chest, stilling. "I don't understand."

"See, sex has always felt, I dunno, good. I mean, really, really good. But sometimes it just makes you feel bad. You're drunk, you shack up, then it's the whole morning thing, 'Hey, that was fun,' and then adios. Not always, but usually the adios." Dean rolls onto his side facing Cas, head cradled on his bent arm, their legs still entwined. He's surprised by the depth of his honesty, but strangely not frightened. "Thing is, it always hurts…"

"That's why friends don't usually have sex, isn't it?" Cas says with a frown, chewing on his bottom lip. "It hurts more when a friend leaves."

"A hell of a lot more," Dean whispers. "And knotting, well knotting is—" The fear suddenly surges and Dean pulls away from Cas to lay supine, arms crossed over his chest. "Never mind, it's stupid. You should try to get some sleep before the next wave hits."

They lay side by side in silence, Cas respecting Dean's request, but it does nothing to quiet Dean's mind. The silence only makes it worse, ringing in his ears and amplifying his thoughts as they run through his head on repeat. It's not long before Dean can't stand it anymore.

"Knotting is more than sex," he says hurried, and Cas shifts to look at him. "It's more than just all that physical stuff. It's literally giving a part of yourself to another person that you can never take back. It's a commitment. A fucking powerful one. And I know I sound like a damn chick flick right now, but you don't do that with just anyone."

"Who do you do it with?" Cas asks, his breath warm against Dean's ear. Dean shivers. "Is this something you do with a friend?"

"It's something you only do with a friend," Dean says, idly picking at a stray thread on the sheet, trying desperately to keep from turning his head and looking into Cas's eyes. "Not just any friend though… They gotta be the one who's there for you no matter what. Who takes your fucking shit and knows how to talk sense into you when no one else can. They gotta be your most loyal friend, your most trusted friend—"

"Your best friend," Cas finishes, breathless.

"Yeah," Dean answers finally giving in and turning his head, one hand reaching out to cup Cas's cheek. "Your best friend."

In his mind, Dean always pictured this moment, if it ever came, to be frantic and lust fueled, clashing teething and tangled tongues fighting for dominance, more akin to the first time Dean took Cas during his heat: clinical, precise, and straight to the point. Surely that could be all Cas would want from him because Cas has lived for millennia, seen anything and everything, the wonders of the world and the universe. He may be human now but once he was more, belonged to a better club, as Cas called it, and it was all Dean's fault, no matter what anyone said.

It was always Dean's fault, every time Cas chose the Winchesters over his own family, when he lost his grace for good and fell forever to become a lowly human like the rest of them, but still so much better than Dean ever was or ever could be. What happened in this room would stay in this room, nothing more than a physical necessity for Cas, and a deep wound for Dean that would never heal, not completely.

But Cas's lips are soft against his, almost shy, a gentle, featherlight touch that tickles and tingles. His hand is careful where it cups the base of Dean's head, fingers playing with the curling hair, holding him like he's something precious. And then his tongue is swiping at Dean's bottom lip and Dean gasps and Cas licks inside, whimpering and tasting, pulling Dean closer and diving deeper as if he can't get enough, as if he'll never get enough, as if he's been waiting for this moment for a lifetime and then some.

"Dean," Cas whispers between tiny pecks and licks and barely there nips to Dean's bottom lip. "I've wanted this for so long."

And Dean stills, gasping, tries to push Cas away because no, he can't mean that, no. "It's the heat," he whimpers desperately but Cas just kisses him deeper, more boldly, but still with so much care. And Dean wants to push away again because he doesn't deserve this and it can't be true and he's ruined everything.

He got to have Cas for a while but now he's going to lose him and maybe Dean can survive it, the ache and the heartbreak, but not if he lets himself have this, feel this. So, he pushes again and Cas pulls, one hand behind Dean's head and the other on his left bicep and everything goes white.

When he comes to, Cas is still holding him, this time both hands cradling Dean's scull, their foreheads together, and they're both panting, sweaty and shaking, breathing the same air. "What.. what happened?" Dean slurs and Cas gives him a lopsided smile, kisses his lips and just holds for a long moment, pulling back with a satisfied sigh.

"My grace," he mumbles, going in for another kiss, like he didn't just drop a major bombshell.

"What?" Dean breathes, his body buzzing as Cas kisses across his cheekbone to his ear, swirls his tongue around the shell and then licks down his jawline back to his lips. "Your grace?"

"Yes," Cas says kissing him again, but Dean recognizes it for what it is—a distraction—and this time when he pushes away, Cas lets him, just a fraction.

"Explain," he says, and when Cas looks at him, his lust blown eyes are worried and Dean doesn't like that one bit so this time he leans in, kisses Cas soft and sweet and almost forgets his question by the time Cas pulls away, breathless.

"The handprint on your arm," Cas says slow, cautiously. "It was more than a byproduct of raising you from hell. It was a mark."

Dean narrows his eyes. "Yeah? And? It's gone, has been since we stopped the damn apocalypse."

"The physical mark is gone, yes."

"Cas… what did you do?" Dean gulps and Cas avert his eyes. "What did you mark?"

A long pause. "Your soul," Cas whispers.

"My soul—"

"Yes."

"You marked my soul?"

"So that I could always find you, in any time, in any life."

Dean's heart flutters in his ribcage, hands shaking, body trembling as he cradle's Cas's head and turns it. His eyes are red and watery and in this moment he's more human that he's ever been, more beautiful. "Why?"

"Because I loved you, Dean, from the very first moment I saw you soul. From the first moment I touched it and held it, and I shouldn't have done it, I know, but even the thought of being without you, of living for an eternity without being able to find you was more fearful than death and so, and so…"

Cas's lip quivers and Dean stops it with a kiss because Cas loves him, he fucking loves him. And Dean doesn't want to believe it because he doesn't deserve it and it's too good to be true, but he knows when he felt when Cas touched him, when he lit his fucking soul on fire with the branded grace. Love. Unfathomable, unending and even Dean's not emotionally repressed enough to ignore this.

"God, Cas. Me too," he says on an exhale. "From the very first moment, when you walked into that barn in Illinois all fucking badass with the lights flashing and the wind blowing and that fucking voice…" Dean shivers. "That's when I knew."

"Knew what?" Cas asks and even teary eyed the little shit's mouth quirks, because he knows damn well what Dean means but he's not going to let him get away without actually saying it. Because this is Cas and he pushes Dean's boundaries and he makes Dean better and it's all part of why Dean loves him to begin with.

"That I loved you," Dean says, and this time he'll own it: his voice cracks. "That I already loved you. I didn't understand what I was feeling then, only just realized a few days ago what it all meant... But in that moment, that's when I knew."

Then they're kissing again and Dean has Cas on his back and he's hovering over him, tasting him everywhere from head to navel, Cas writhing and mewling, begging for more.

"I've gotta—can I taste you, buddy? Please. I need to taste you."

"Anything, Dean. Anything—ahh!—anything you want."

Dean wastes no time claiming his prize. He spreads Cas's legs and palms at his ass, pulling the cheeks apart. The bed is soaked through and Cas's thighs are slick and shiny; his hole, red and swollen, but loose from days of being fucked is leaking like a geyser, and all Dean can think is, What a waste.

He dives in, the first press of his tongue to the muscle making Cas jump, but Dean holds him firm, digs his fingers into the yellowing bruise marks on Cas's hips and drinks his fill.

Dean's cock is throbbing by the time he sits up, having cleaned Cas thoroughly with his tongue. A nod from Cas and a broken, "Please," and Dean's lining up, and this time when he pushes inside, he wants to cry.

Cas is tight and warm and even though they've done this more times in the last two days than Dean can count, they haven't done this. Not face to face with tears in their eyes, some escaping and rolling down their cheeks where they kiss and lick them away. They haven't rocked together slowly, clutching and pawing at each other, hands shaking, bodies trembling. They haven't kissed, their lips red and swollen and numb, as they murmur broken, "I love yous" into the damp, charged air between them. And when Dean's knot begins to swell, tugging on Cas's rim, making him cry out, they haven't held each other closer, desperate to stay connected for as long as humanly possible. But this time, they do it all.

They cry and they tremble and they kiss; they whisper, "I love you," until their throats are raw; and this time, when Dean's knot swells completely and he comes, he's still buried deep inside, Cas convulsing around him. They hold each other through the aftershocks, kissing sloppy and wet, collapsing on the bed in a tangle of limbs, spent and tied together. Finally.

"I meant it, what I said," Cas says, sometime later. "That wasn't the heat either."

Dean pulls Cas into his arms, kissing the top of his head. They have a lot to talk about in the coming days and weeks; Dean's insecurities, Cas's new designation and what that means for them, and the real biggie: exactly how the hell a newly human fallen angel and an emotionally repressed hunter whose relationships generally don't last the night are supposed to make it work. But none of that belongs here, in this bed, in this moment.

"I meant it," Cas says once more, a whisper. "I love you."

Dean holds him closer and smiles. "I know."

Chapter Text

Sam's zipping up his duffel when a knock interrupts him. "Just a minute!" he yells, hoisting the bag over his shoulder, giving his temporary room and it's two beds a once over.

"Stop blow drying your hair and get out here, Sammy! We're ready to go." The doorknob jiggles and Dean grunts from the other side. "Come on! It's ten and McDonald's only serves breakfast until 10:30!"

"You're living under a rock. They serve breakfast all day now."

"Not biscuits, they don't! Hurry the fuck up!"

Sam chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as he hurries out of the bedroom and shuts the door before Dean can see the secret inside.

"What's with you?" Dean asks, one brow raised.

"Nothing," Sam says, clapping Dean on the shoulder and ushering him down the hall before his curiosity gets the better of him.

Cesar and Jesse meet them outside by the Impala where they say their goodbyes.

"I feel like I've spent this whole visit apologizing," Dean laughs, color high on his cheeks. "But thanks again for putting up with me and not throwing my ass to the curb."

"Really, Dean. It's good," Cesar says, clapping him on the shoulder. "You were just protecting your mate."

Jesse laughs. "Seriously, you shoulda seen Cesar the first time I went into heat around him. It was so bad we thought he'd got hit by some spell! So, don't worry. We get it, and it does get easier. Besides," Jesse adds with a smile, "we all got in a few good days together after Cas's heat. Was fun. We'll have to do it again."

"Yeah. True… but still don't make it okay," Dean mumbles. "I owe you guys a damn fruit basket or some shit."

Cesar grins. "Make it a basket of Patron and we got ourselves a deal."

They finish the rest of their good-byes laughing, with handshakes and hugs. And then, as Dean helps Cas into the front seat, Sam, Jesse, and Cesar share a smile and a wink for a job well done. Sam slips into the back seat, ignoring Dean's "shut up" glare about the seating arrangements. As if Sam cares.

"So," Dean begins, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat as they drive away. "You know that old storage room we cleaned out a while back?"

"Which one? The one with those potions?" Sam asks, though fingers crossed, he knows exactly the one Dean means. "Or the one with all those old office supplies and phones?"

"Yeah, the office." Dean pauses, eyes darting to Sam in the rear view and then quickly going back to the road. "Well, what if we got rid of those phones?"

Sam narrows his eyes, frowning, playing along. "Uhh, you mean like I've been saying for months? We'd make a fortune on eBay. That antique shit is really in right now."

"Sure, do whatever you want with 'em, I don't fucking care. But I was thinking," Dean pauses again, chewing his lip, and he's sure Dean doesn't mean for him to notice, but he squeezes Cas's hand for strength before he continues. "The room's already set up for it. If we replaced the old ones with some new shit then it'd be a perfect place to run phones out of. You know," he shrugs, feigning indifference. "Like Bobby used to."

"Huh," Sam hums, his lips twitching. "Yeah. That could work. Good idea, Dean."

"And, Cas," Dean blushes, his hand gently touching the fresh bite on his neck, eyes then flicking sideways to Cas where Sam now notices a matching mark. "So, I was talking to Jesse, and he was saying how much you loved his hives, and that if you want, they can come out and visit us at the bunker and he can help you pick out a place. Help you get some hives of your own setup." Dean blushes again and Sam wants to melt into the floor. "You know. If you want."

Cas nods, smile beaming brightly. "Yes, Dean. I want. Thank you."

The miles roll on as Dean rambles off one plan after another, blushing shyly every time he glances at Cas, their fingers tightly entwined. They can't stop touching, connecting, and any other time Sam would gag. It's his prerogative as a brother, his damn birthright. But Dean is happy, honestly, truly happy, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief.

This time, this relationship, is forever. And now, Dean has time to enjoy it properly. They all have time.

Sam smiles, his heart warm. Mission accomplished.