Third Try's the Charm

by Mayushii

All copyright materials are property of their respective owners.

A/N: This is my first Supernatural fanfic, so please be nice. I don't really know much about this fandom and I've only watched the first five seasons of the show (plus I've had some spoilers for the sixth). Also, I've been reading AlreadyPainfullyGone's fics pretty avidly for a few weeks now, so this story is dedicated to her.

Third Try's the Charm

It starts out as a normal Tuesday evening.

Dean and Sam are staying in a motel room in South Carolina, having decided to investigate a case in the area. Sam has set up his laptop on the breakfast table and is busy doing research on the internet. Dean, meanwhile, is sitting on one of the beds with about twenty different wallets spread out around him. It feels like it's been years since they last updated their fake IDs (Sam still has floppy college hair in his old picture), so he is undergoing the tedious process of changing them by hand, using an x-acto knife to cut out new photos and pasting them over the old ones.

Nearly two hours pass in this way before Sam yawns and rubs a hand over his face.

"What's the matter, Sammy? Ritualistic murders getting too dull for you?" Dean jokes, not looking up from his work.

"No, just tired…" Sam cracks his neck and stands up. "I'm gonna go get some air. Back in ten."

"Later," Dean says. He says it as if he's giving permission, even though Sam really doesn't need his say-so. It's hard for Dean to get out of the protective older brother mindset, though. After all, Sam had only recently recovered his soul.

Sam has almost made it to the door before Dean suddenly looks up with intent.

"Wait, are you going past the gas station? Bring back some pie while you're out, will ya? I'm starving."

Sam scoffs and waves his hand in that familiar, long-suffering, yeah, yeah, I'll get you your pie way. The door opens, admitting a cool gust of air that rifles through the puke-green drapes before the door clicks shut again. Dean smiles, nods to himself in his own all right, pie! way, and returns his attention to the cards in front of him. He's feeling remarkably affectionate as he dots the back of a photo with glue, shifts it into place on an FBI card, and picks up his x-acto knife once more.

"Dean."

The knife slips and slices into Dean's left index finger.

"Dammit, Cas, how about giving me some warning next time!" he snaps, dropping the knife and clutching his wounded finger to stem the flow of blood.

"Sorry," Castiel says.

Dean can't detect any remorse in Castiel's low, overly solemn voice. He gives his companion a dirty look, which as usual doesn't faze Castiel in the slightest. The angel just stands there in his beige trench coat, looking at Dean's finger and tipping his head as if he has never seen human blood before and finds it vaguely interesting. God, Cas can be so creepy, Dean thinks sourly.

"You wanna use some of that angel mojo and fix this?" Dean asks, disgruntled.

Castiel obediently reaches out to loosen Dean's grip on his bloody finger with one hand. He wraps his other hand around Dean's finger and strokes downward, leaving the digit clean and uncut.

"Sorry," Castiel repeats. "I didn't mean to startle you." His brow is crinkled as if he's straining to work something out in his mind. Dean has the impression that he wants to be sorry, and he's really trying to be sorry, but he just can't quite wrap his head around the concept. It's like watching a psychopath trying to feel guilt. Weird.

That is when Dean notices that Castiel is still holding onto his fingertip. Strangely, Dean's first thought is of a baby's tiny, fragile hand closing around the much larger finger of a caretaker, and he is momentarily caught up in a half-forgotten memory of when Sammy first came home from the hospital and Dean had shaken his hand with one finger. Except it's nothing like that, because Castiel's hand is as big as Dean's own and strong enough to break bones if ever the occasion should arise.

"Dude, you can let go now."

"Oh." Castiel obeys and even manages to look convincingly sheepish. "Right."

Dean nods his forgiveness, satisfied that Castiel is at least trying to understand what he did wrong. He raises his eyebrows, forces his mouth into a slightly pursed smile, and looks expectantly up at Castiel. This garners a puzzled look from the angel.

"Well?" Dean ventures.

"Erm…well, what?"

"What did you come here for?" Dean gesticulates at the room in general. "Is there some kind of emergency in Heaven? Something I can help you with," Dean amended, since there is pretty much always some kind of trouble in paradise but rarely anything that lesser mortals can do about it.

"Uh…no. No emergency."

Ten seconds pass in awkward silence.

"Cas… Did you just come here to talk?" Dean says it slowly, incredulous and almost accusing. He thinks it very unlikely that the dutiful angel would want to chitchat when he has more important matters to attend in Heaven. But Castiel has mentioned that he prefers spending time with the Winchester brothers, so maybe it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.

"Not just to talk," Castiel answers. The slight emphasis on the word just makes Dean groan, because clearly some talking will be involved.

"Come on, man, you know I hate talking!"

"You do? I hadn't noticed."

Dean can't tell if that's sarcasm or not.

"Well, if we have to do this, let's get it over with," he says flatly. "What do you wanna talk about, anyway?"

Another long stretch of silence. Great, more staring to accompany this stirring conversation.

"Cas, you're creeping me out."

"…I require your…assistance…in a matter that may or may not be of consequence."

"Oh, so you do need my help with something," Dean says, somewhat relieved at the prospect. He pauses. "Wait, how do you not know if it's 'of consequence' or not?"

"I have been investigating it for a while," Castiel looks at Dean seriously, "and I believe that you may have a power which you have not fully realized."

Dean stares for a moment. He figures that he must have heard Castiel wrong. When the angel continues to look at him, expression grave and expectant, Dean screws up his face in confusion and points at the door through which Sam left minutes ago.

"Yyyyeah… I think you're talking to the wrong brother."

"No, I'm talking to the right one," Castiel says evenly. "I have never seen Sam use this power. I have observed others attempting it—I have attempted it twice myself—but it seems to be unique to you." Dean stares at him, bewildered, and Castiel narrows his eyes slightly. "This power does…something, to people. It is difficult to explain, but it seems to have an effect on angels as well as humans. I need to know exactly what that effect is, and the extent to which you are able to create the effect."

Dean gets past the idea that he might have powers when he realizes what Castiel is suggesting.

"Wait, so you're saying you want to study me?" Dean frowns, already feeling defensive. "No freaking way. You're not making me a test subject for some creepy angel experiments."

"I am not saying I need to study you in that way," Castiel says reasonably. "But this power of yours affects angels. I need to know about it." Dean is deeply discomfited by the earnest look in Castiel's eyes: a look that pleads for cooperation rather than simply demanding it. "I need to know what you're doing and how you're doing it. I don't need to test you if you can simply explain what it is you do."

"Sure, and how am I supposed to explain it if I don't know what the hell you're talking about?" Dean wonders.

"I understand the physical mechanics," Castiel says promptly and helpfully. "Shall I demonstrate?"

"Is it gonna hurt?" Dean asks suspiciously.

"I don't know. From what I have seen…sometimes it seems to hurt you, and sometimes it doesn't." Dean doesn't know what to say to that, and Castiel's expression changes in a way that Dean can't identify. If it were anyone else, he might say that Castiel is trying to reassure him. "I don't think it will hurt you. I don't know how your power will affect me, though. But I am willing to risk pain in order to understand your abilities."

"Look, if this is going to hurt either of us, shouldn't we just, you know, not?"

Dean's mouth snaps shut when Castiel reaches out with his right hand. Long, slender fingertips graze over Dean's upper arm, catching at the leather of his jacket. It's an intimate act, definitely intruding on Dean's personal space, but Castiel does it as if it's just a step in a set of instructions. The angel tugs lightly at the sleeve of the jacket before finally letting his hand rest on the human's bicep. His brow is furrowed with mild confusion; he recognizes that this is integral to the process, but he clearly doesn't know what purpose it serves.

"Cas?" Dean says warily. He has a sneaking suspicion that he knows where this is going.

Castiel moves faster now, probably planning to finish this so that Dean doesn't have a chance to protest. His other hand quickly reaches out, his fingertips light on Dean's cheek, and then Castiel has his chin firmly gripped between his thumb and forefinger.

"Cas, hold on… " Dean hears his own weak voice and wonders why he isn't yelling like he should be. "You can't—"

Dean knows that Castiel knew he was going to tell him to stop. He knows that Castiel could have stopped in time. But he also knows that Castiel wouldn't have stopped. Just before those brilliant blue eyes are hidden under their lashes, Dean sees what Castiel has been trying to conceal: the most intense curiosity Dean has ever witnessed. The angel is filled with it, the need to know, a drive so strong that he's ready to come apart. It seems to frighten and confuse and thrill Castiel all at the same time.

The revelation is like a shock to Dean's system—a shock that's magnified when their lips actually touch. Pleasure makes his belly clench almost instantly, and then he can barely comprehend what's happening. He's caught up in the familiar sensation, the pressure on his lips making him feel a rush of heat that starts in the pit of his stomach and travels all the way up to his brain. He's kissing, God it's been so long since he's done that, and after the long dry spell this little sip of water tastes like the best he's ever had. Dazed and lightheaded, Dean almost forgets that this is Castiel, who is currently residing in a man's body. He just lets it happen. Lets Castiel's hot, chapped lips press against his own, dry enough that he has to resist the urge to lick them…

It lasts for ten seconds. Dean isn't sure how many times his heart beats in those seconds, or if it beats at all. He only knows that his entire body lurches as soon as Castiel pulls back, and that his pulse is racing as he watches the angel lick his lips and pant breathlessly.

"That—" Castiel's voice is even lower and rougher than normal, and he has to swallow the lump in his throat before he tries again. "That was it. You did it without even trying."

He opens his eyes and stares down at the bedspread, his breaths coming unevenly. He looks like he is trying to process what just happened.

"It feels…hot," Castiel says eventually, struggling to find words to describe what he is feeling. "Hot and painful, but in a good way. It starts here," Castiel brings his shaking hand to his stomach, "and then it spreads. It's…overwhelming." Castiel raises his head just enough that he can peer at Dean through his lashes. "I think I understand what you do now. I felt my Grace expanding. So much so that I don't think this body can contain it all." His breath hitches. "Dean, this is dangerous. If you actually tried, you could force an angel from its vessel this way."

The shock of the kiss fades from Dean's mind when Castiel says this.

"So what, making out with Meg didn't do it for you?" he asks, trying for offhanded sarcasm and failing miserably.

Castiel looks at him squarely.

"I told you that I have attempted this twice on my own. The first time was with the woman, Chastity. I thought it didn't work then because I did something wrong, so I didn't try again until I had studied it more thoroughly." Dean snorts in disbelief at the thought of studying porn like it's academia, but Castiel continues seriously. "When I watched others, it didn't have the same effect, either; there was no spark of power behind it. I tried it with the demon you call Meg, thinking that a creature with more innate power might trigger something, but I failed then as well. So I concluded that it must be you." Castiel looks at Dean intently. "What you did to Anna—what you have done to others—that is a power that I have never seen before."

"Dude, it's not a power!" Dean is starting to go red in the face. It's clear to him now that this is all a misunderstanding. Castiel genuinely thinks that Dean has a special power, but that isn't the case. He's just so removed from humanity that he can't grasp the basic concept of a kiss. Dean feels more pity for the angel's lack of awareness than anger or disgust for what has happened between them. "It's just kissing. Humans do it all the time."

"Not the way you do," Castiel insists.

"You've got this all wrong!"

"You're underestimating my intelligence, Dean."

"I'm not underestimating your intelligence, I'm saying you just don't have the experience to know—"

"To know what? That a kiss can make a person feel like they're dying, and like they're living for the first time? That it steals your breath, your life force, and then returns it stronger than before? That it makes my Grace burn so bright that I can barely stand it, that I feel like I'll be torn from this body if I can't hold myself back? What don't I know?" Castiel demands. To Dean's surprise, he actually sounds sincere. He really wants to be told what he's missing.

Dean doesn't know where to start.

A/N: Um…that's that. Hope you liked it.

-Assuming Cas at least got far enough to kiss the hooker Dean introduced him to before she ran out screaming, I count two kisses in-series. Hope I didn't miss any. -_-;