I know I said that I was done, but it just would not leave me alone until I had given it a sort of ending. This really is it though. Absolutely, one hundred percent finished. It wasn't the easiest to write and it has slightly more mature themes than the last (not enough to up the rating, but enough to give fair warning).

All Things

Dean knew that nothing in his life was certain. He did not have that luxury. Not since he died and went to Hell, not since his father sold his soul for him, not since Sam left and went to school rather than staying with his family. Even his sexuality, the one thing that he had always relied on, had become skewed since he had been yanked out of Hell by an angel of all things.

Despite his doubts and worries and newly awakened emotions, Castiel was still absolutely certain of at least one thing. He had faith in Dean. Unwavering, unshakable and undeniable. He had such faith because he loved Dean and whether that faith came as a result of his love or the love came as a result of his faith, Castiel did not think that he would ever know. As perplexing as that was, however, Castiel did not waver, did not question, because he had his orders and a job to do and he did not have the time to dwell on whether his love was a part of the great plan.

What was rapidly becoming a certainty in Dean's life was the dreams. Dreams that either left him at peace with himself and the world, whole, calm and satisfied, or dreams that woke him in the middle of the night, limbs twisted, skin bathed in sweat, tingling with remembered caresses and kisses, and a name a hoarse, breathless whisper on his lips. The name of an angel, his angel. Although the dreams had concerned him at first, he had come to look forward to them, to relish them in a way that he had never thought he could. So when his dream-self had told the angel that he loved him, it was only fitting, in the mind of Dean Winchester, that the dream of Castiel would love him back.

If falling in love with Dean had never been a part of his Father's great celestial plan, Castiel was sure that telling him was most certainly not a factor. Except that he had been taken so off guard, had been so stunned by the honest admission of the part of Dean that could not lie, that he had almost immediately said it back, and he knew, absolutely without a doubt, that Dean would remember and that he would ask questions, seek memories and make demands that Castiel knew he was in no position to refuse.

The real kicker, Dean decided, was that Sam had started to notice. Started to see the way that Dean watched Castiel a little more closely than was necessary. That his eyes would linger on the angels face and body, like he was trying to commit all of it to memory, every last detail. Because Dean knew that Castiel would one day, one day, leave to return once more to Heaven and he would be alone again, alone with nothing but his memories and his nightmares and his regrets.

Castiel had made certain that Dean would dream of him whether he walked through them or not. Because regardless of whether he was there, the suggestion behind them was now so deeply embedded in Dean's mind that the dreams would always linger, for long after Castiel would be forced to leave the human and return to a home that was cold and sterile and devoid of all that made the humans precious. Castiel took comfort in the fact that part of Dean would always remember him even as his mind and his heart cried out in pain and hope and fear. Pain at the thought o f leaving Dean. Hope that he did feel the same love in return and fear that his new and so precious emotions, his whole being, were never going to be good enough for the hunter, that he was not worthy of Dean's love.

Which was what it all boiled down to, really, in Dean's opinion. That he did not deserve to love or be loved by an angel. Castiel was good and pure, light, holy and just perfect. Dean, Dean, was tainted by blood and death and darkness and part of him was still in Hell with all of the broken souls and all of the anguish in the knowledge of the things that he had done. He had no right to the angel's love, no right to demand it, but that did not stop him from wanting it. All of it. The overwhelming want and need, love and lust and simple desire that was all consuming and over powering every time he saw Castiel, whether it be in or out of his dreams.

It is hard, Castiel realised , to control himself outside the dreams now. Seeing Dean nearly every day as he does, whether the hunter knows it or not, it is hard when all he could feel was love and desire and he knew that lust is a sin and finds that he simply cannot bring himself to care. At least not enough to stop him from wondering what Dean would do if he grabbed him and kissed him. But he keeps his restraint, allowed himself to settle for long looks and heartfelt sighs and resigned himself to the fact that Dean would never see.

Eventually, Dean grew tired of waiting, of watching and dreaming and desiring. He had never been good at restraint and the knowledge that Castiel was out there, still fighting to correct his mistake filled the hunter with dread and fear. Dread that the angel might die or fall or whatever it was that happened to them in battles with demons, and fear that it would happen with Castiel never understanding or knowing just how much Dean had come to care. His feelings terrified him, but the thought of losing Castiel scared him more. He waited, waited just long enough so that they would be alone, until they had lapsed into uncomfortable silence, until with nothing more than a harsh gasp he had taken the angel's face in his hands and claimed his lips with his own.

The feel of Dean's lips on his, his hands moving and exploring, was better even than the dreams that Castiel had allowed himself to experience, had gleaned just enough practical knowledge and experience from them that he knew how to respond in kind. So it was not until they lay in the bed, boneless and satisfied and completely entwined with one another that he even realised what they had done and it seemed that it was only natural for him to whisper the words that conveyed his feelings, to raise his head and gaze upon the peaceful form of the man he loved as he slept, to lay down once more and listen to Dean's even breathing and steady heart as he, too, drifted into a rest he had not known he needed, determined to stay until Dean woke or Sam returned.

Dean's eyes half opened as he felt Castiel settle on his chest, bodies still entwined, clothes strewn all over the floor, blankets not really covering them properly, but he did not care, because though his gut had clenched with fear at Castiel's whispered words, but he could not worry about the fear, not in this moment, this perfect moment where he had exactly what he wanted and needed. Where he had that one certainty and his heart had swelled within his chest and he mouthed the return of the sentiment, before allowing himself to join the angel in sleep.

Fin.

Review for the angel and for the man.

Artemis