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Slow Ride, Chapter Five

Castiel was planning to save Dean, but it's funny how often that situation gets reversed. Dean/Cas SLASH.

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Dean awoke with the feeling that he had been interrupted in the middle of something important. It was not a good way to wake up. At first he kept perfectly still, cataloguing each injury as it made itself apparent. His fingers were raw, and his knuckled throbbed – obviously he had been in a fight, but these days that didn't exactly narrow it down much. And Christ, his shoulder hurt, the muscle pulling as he moved.

Blearily, he squinted around the room. The stale smell of cigarettes told him he was in another crappy hotel ... talk about not narrowing it down. In the dim light the room looked vaguely familiar, but maybe that was just the inherent sameness of all hotel rooms, everywhere; anonymous, indifferent, and depressing.

He had apparently dreamed that Sammy was there, which was embarrassing but not exactly unusual. Although he was coming to terms with the fact that Sam didn't want to be his little brother anymore – and who could blame him, Dean hadn't exactly done the best job at keeping his promises – he still hoped that someday they could at least be hunting partners again. Uh, assuming they didn't both die in the next few weeks, obviously.

But evidently Sam wasn't around, or Dean's pills would be on the bedside table; Sammy was good about things like that.

He reached for the duffel bag he always kept next to the bed, wanting the Vicodin he kept stashed in the side zip – but the duffel wasn't there. Dean groaned and let his head drop back on the pillow. He couldn't remember driving back from wherever he'd been – had he even brought the Impala? Crap, she could be anywhere.

He heaved himself up, swinging his legs around and out of the bed. Find his baby, find his pills, figure out what the hell had happened this time – in that order.

He touched his throbbing shoulder and found that it was wrapped, but too loosely; again, not Sammy's work. Dean checked the injury quickly and then pulled the gauze tight, grunting a little. It probably could've done with some stitches, but this would work. Leave another scar, that's all.

He finally noticed that draped over the blankets was a very familiar tan trench coat … oh right, Cas, this was all coming back to him now. Freakin' Cas had done the freakin' magic finger. Dean hated the magic finger.

He rubbed the edge of the coat, realizing as he did so that the formerly torn seams were somehow restored. Looked like Castiel had completely recovered his grace, and at least that sonofabitch demon was dead. Well, it wasn't exactly the first time he'd been ditched after some hot sex, so Dean should be used to this by now. And to be fair, he was usually the one doing the ditching so he couldn't really complain.

He got up slowly, gritting his teeth against the pain of stiff muscles being forced to move. Thank God (uh, or His angels … whatever) he could see the Impala outside the window of the motel, waiting for him patiently like the faithful steed that she was. So maybe Cas had ditched him, but not without a ride. Quality.

He limped out the front door and made his way slowly to the car, which had been left unlocked (damnit, Cas!). There was the duffel bag in the back seat – Dean rummaged for the pills and dry-swallowed two, sighing with pleasure. He knew they hadn't really kicked in yet but he felt better instantly - some psychological thing, Sammy would know.

He found the keys in the glove box and locked the Impala, then dragged the duffel bag behind him back to the room. Finally he got the door closed behind him and leaned against it, closing his eyes in the dim room and sighing in relief.

"You should be resting, Dean."

"Jesus Christ!" Dean almost jumped out of his skin. Of course the angel appeared approximately two inches in front of him, so that when he opened his eyes he was right there.

Cas frowned. "No, it's me, Castiel." He moved even closer into Dean's personal space, concerned. "Perhaps you hit your head?"

Dean pushed Cas back a half-step and groaned in exasperation. "Dude. Not being literal here." He took a good look at the angel, trying to see if there was any sign of what they had been through together - but Cas looked the way he always did, wide-eyed and a little startled, like he's just stuck his finger in an electric socket.

"Came back for your coat, huh?" Cas didn't even look right in his white shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up around his elbows.

"No Dean, I came back for you," he said patiently. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Well, here I am," said Dean. "Right as rain. You blinked me here after the fight, huh?"

"Yes. Once Moloch was killed my powers returned, such as they are." He gazed guilelessly into Dean's unhappy face. "I was very careful with your digestion," he offered hopefully.

Dean nodded, rolling his eyes. He was guessing Cas didn't know how to drive. Distantly, he could feel the tingling of the painkiller kicking in; the edges of his vision were blurry, and his fingertips went numb. It felt great.

"Are you alright, Dean? Your heart rate just dropped." Castiel was standing too close again, his wide blue eyes pinned intently on Dean's expression.

"S'jus the pills, Cas," muttered Dean, staggering a little as he tried to get back to the bed. Cas grabbed him by the shoulder, and just his grip was enough to keep Dean on his feet.

"Allow me to help you," he ordered, hauling Dean effortlessly back to sit on the bedspread. Yeah, back to angel-strength again.

"Watch the manhandling," Dean grumped. Castiel assumed he was embarrassed to be the subject of scrutiny – he knew Dean preferred not to be the center of attention, particularly if he was feeling unwell. Perhaps it made him feel threatened. Inching closer, he placed his hand on Dean's forehead, the way the human had once done for him when all of this started. Dean looked faintly puzzled, so perhaps he was doing the ritual wrong, but to Castiel it felt good to have Dean's warm skin under his hands.

"Dude," said Dean.

"I'm attempting to express my concern," said Castiel helpfully.

"Uh, yeah, I got that," said Dean. "But I'm good, Cas. Promise."

"That's untrue. You were damaged in the fight."

Dean smiled, and it was his usual cocky grin, all teeth; "Yeah, but Moloch got it worse, right?"

"Yes," said Castiel. "Moloch is dead."

"Totally worth it, then."

Castiel watched as Dean leaned slowly back against the headboard, closing his eyes as the painkillers made him a little light-headed. "Moloch was a very powerful demon," he said. "To demand the sacrifice of children … it is abhorrent, an abomination before the Lord."

"Yeah right," said Dean dopily, his eyes faintly glassy in the dim room. "What about that poor dude Abraham? God wanted him to kill his son. Sounds just like Moloch to me."

"You read the bible," Castiel commented, impressed.

"Sammy gives me the highlights."

"I told you your bible has many mistakes," Castiel said mildly. "The point of that story is that God was merciful. He didn't demand Isaac's sacrifice."

"Making Abe think he was going to have to kill his son, s' just as bad." Dean blinked slowly. "God isn't merciful. He always gets his pound of flesh, one way or the other."

Castiel cocked his head. "We are not talking about the story of Abraham," he said. "We are speaking of yourself, and your brother."

"I prayed," said Dean, his voice distant and vague. "I prayed when Sam died. I prayed that God would take me instead. He didn't answer, but the Crossroads Demon did."

Castiel didn't know why Dean had been chosen to suffer. It wasn't something he was supposed to question. But he offered, quietly; "I'm sorry, Dean."

"I just got this feeling," said Dean, "That the only way we're ever going to see the end of this apocalypse clusterfuck is if one or both of us go, me or Sammy." One glittering eye cracked and pinned Castiel like an arrow. "I'm just praying God will be merciful this time, and he'll let me go instead of him."

Castiel felt cold, tight; "Don't say that, Dean."

"Because I don't have anything left to sacrifice," said Dean bleakly. "I'm down to the bottom of the barrel. And I'm just praying that He'll still have me, even after – everything I've done. But … He's going to demand something that'll hurt a hell of a lot worse. Isn't He." It wasn't a question.

"My father is merciful, Dean," Castiel whispered hopelessly.

He was frustrated by his inability to fix Dean's brain, and he couldn't remember how human comfort worked, exactly; even if he placed his vessel's hand on Dean's skin, what was the benefit? Would Dean understand what he wanted to say? "Don't think about these things anymore," he said instead. "I'm ordering you not to."

Dean managed a smile. "Sorry, buddy. Can't help it. It's a human thing."

"I suppose I wouldn't know about that."

"Don't sell yourself short," said Dean, "You were a pretty good human. You know, for an angel."

"I didn't like it," said Castiel fiercely. "I don't ever want to be that way again. Useless, helpless to assist you."

"You did alright," said Dean, closing his eyes.

"Being human was – a great misfortune."

"Hey, there's some good things about it, too."

"One good thing," said Castiel. "And that's you. You were kind to me."

"Dude, I know you don't know a lot of people personally," said Dean patiently, "but most of us wouldn't leave a friend with a busted knee lying on the grass. It's not really saying very much."

That hadn't been exactly what Castiel was referring to. He looked at Dean, lying back against the bed with his eyes closed. He knew now how clearly humans felt their own fragility - so much more than angels. They were so quick to fear, to suffer, to hurt. That meant Dean felt those things, all the time, and yet he pushed forwards. Even though the most ridiculous accident – a stray bullet, a bolt of lightning – could kill him instantly, or leave him permanently maimed. Even though he had already died, more than once, and lost his mortal soul, which was worse. Still he kept trying, in this frail little body that Castiel had cobbled together for him, made out of dust and clay and old bones. The body that Castiel had held in his hands when it was first made, the last time it was really safe, before he had tossed it rudely back out into the world.

Now Castiel wanted to hold that body safe again, to feel its delicacy and its strength, and do what he could to bolster it.

"Dean," he said.

Dean's eyes opened slowly and came to rest on his face. "What?"

"When we had – the sex … "

"Yeah?"

"Things … are different now."

"Yeah, I know, you're angel-ed up again," said Dean flatly. "I figured."

Castiel had the feeling they were not communicating properly.

"Is Jimmy mad?" asked Dean, seemingly out of nowhere. "About - what we did in his body?"

Castiel tipped his head. "I can't feel him any more," he said. "Not since the last time I died."

"Don't say that, man," said Dean. "I don't wanna hear that." So Castiel stopped talking. "Only I could get my own angel tortured - by heaven."

This time Castiel did take the chance of placing his hand, quite deliberately, over Dean's. "It wasn't your fault," he said quietly.

Dean was looking down at their joint fingers, with an expression on his face that wasn't exactly encouraging. Obviously Castiel was doing the touching wrong, but he persisted, even if he incurred the "chick flick" conversation again. "Before, when I said that things are different," he began cautiously. "I mean that I have regained my powers. I am strong again."

"Got that, yeah."

"And yet I find that I have thoughts of you, still. I want to - be with you, in that way, again. One last time."

"Wow," said Dean. "Uh, I'm not really sure I'm up to it, just at the moment. Can you chill for like an hour and ask again?"

"You do not need to do anything, Dean. I want you only to receive what I give you."

Dean sat up a little straighter in the bed. "Woah, dude. Back up."

"Do you fail to understand my meaning?"

"Uh, I hope I'm misunderstanding. Because I hate to tell you this, buddy, but I don't do that. I mean, I never have - I don't ..." This was one of those things that was tricky to explain to an angel, even one who could take a hint, which Cas couldn't. But Dean had never seriously thought about being fucked by a man. For one thing, he was a Winchester, and they just didn't do that (please, God, Sammy). Obviously anything that might or might not have happened in Hell didn't count.

And okay, yeah, maybe he'd had girls slide a pinky finger up there while they sucked him off, nudging against his prostate while he'd come, and that felt pretty good, but that was one little finger, not Cas' (Jimmy's?) big dick that had stretched his mouth the day before. And despite what Sammy probably believed, Dean didn't get off on pain; he saw more than enough of that on the job, and didn't want any more of it. Pain was the price he had to pay for his victories, and he paid it, every single time, without complaining. To keep Sammy safe, to kill some demon sons of bitches, or to protect the innocent. But sex was supposed to be the opposite of that, a chance to feel good, to relax and forget all of the shitty stuff they usually dealt with.

"Look, Cas, if you want to have a go at fucking, we can find you a woman," he said.

Cas looked legitimately surprised. "This isn't about me, Dean," he said. "I want to give you – a gift."

"Your dick up my ass is a gift?" snorted Dean. "Hate to tell you this, but your buddy Michael wants to give me the exact same present."

Castiel felt a hot wave of fury. "He won't touch you," he said. "I won't ever let him."

"I don't know what you want me to say," said Dean, clearly uncomfortable.

Castiel frowned, knowing that he wasn't explaining this very well. He was close enough to read Dean's mind, if he wanted to, and he dipped into it tentatively. Dean's feelings were chaotic, jumbled thoughts and images, and it brought back to Castiel the heady rush of emotions and sensations that came with being human. As an angel, Castiel's thoughts were perfectly serene and clear, and the inside of his head was blessedly silent. It was one of the many advantages of not being human.

Dean was trying to picture his father's reaction if he found out he'd been fucked by a man ("or an angel in a man-suit, whatever"), which Castiel thought was an odd thing to think about since John Winchester was irreversibly dead. He was wondering if Samuel would feel somehow excluded. And he was suffering with some terrible half-recollected memories of fire and ash, which was usually under the surface of whatever Dean was thinking at any time. But he wasn't thinking of the actual idea with any kind of revulsion; he wasn't thinking about himself at all.

But somewhere deep in the rubble, Castiel thought could find the faintest stirring of curiousity.

"Let me," he said.

On the other hand, Dean was thinking, fair's fair, and he did it for me first. And of everything, that was the one thought that sunk into his mind.

"Dean," said Castiel, with as little tenderness as he could manage, considering how strongly he felt the emotion; he knew Dean wouldn't respond to it, couldn't comprehend it, didn't believe that he could deserve it. "I understand now, why it had to happen this way – why my Father made me like a human, so that I was able to give myself to you first. Now I understand what it's like for you, you little humans." Beneath his hand, Dean growled, but the angel kept talking. "I could easily have been too rough with you, but now I have perfect – empathy. I will make it so good for you."

"Nobody's doubting your prowess here, dude," said Dean.

"Let me," Castiel repeated. "Please, Dean. Let me show you."

Dean groaned, covered his eyes with his forearm and dropped back against the mattress. "Damnit, Cas!" He was silent. Fair's fair. "Alright. God, alright. Just - no angel mojo, okay?"

Castiel knew he still feared being coerced. Instead of answering, he leaned forwards and pressed light, sucking kisses along the line of Dean's neck. Dean tasted sweaty … he needed a shower. It didn't bother Castiel, not even the taste of grit on his skin.

Dean shivered, tilting his head to give better access. "How do I let you talk me into this stuff?"

Castiel leaned over where he rested against the headboard, his lips close to Dean's ear. "I'm beginning to think your protests are specious," he said. He was glad he was a full angel for this part, because angels didn't feel physical sensation near so strongly, so distinctly as a human. Sensory information was relayed indirectly, detectible but not overwhelming. That would make it easier for Castiel to be a good partner.

Jimmy's body was back under perfect control, so it wouldn't surprise him with things like hormones and that inexplicable, unavoidable neediness. But he could give himself an erection when he wanted to, by redirecting Jimmy's blood to the penis. The body obeyed him perfectly, and Castiel was satisfied with the rock-hard erection that resulted. He was confident that he could maintain it for as long as it was required for Dean's pleasure.

Dean was sliding his hands up Castiel's sides, over his shirt. Although it wasn't strictly necessary, Castiel knew that baring the body was part of the ritual, so he removed most of his clothing with a thought, leaving himself in only the boxer shorts.

Dean hesitated, hands on his belt buckle. "Is there any chance you can act less like this is some kind of creepy magic spell?" he asked. "I don't want to hear any chanted monosyllables and absolutely no lighting anything on fire."

"Yes Dean," said Castiel.

Finally Dean slid out of his pants, hissing a little as the movement pulled on his wounded shoulder. "Would you like any more pills?" asked Castiel politely.

"Uh, I know angels don't have to worry about this kind of thing, but opiates tend to mess with Mr. Happy," said Dean drily.

"You are referring to your penis," said Castiel.

Dean sighed. "C'mon over here, Cas, I'm getting cold," he said.

Castiel returned willingly, secretly wishing to initiate kissing but not sure how to go about it. He placed his head close to Dean's, on the off chance that Dean might wish to initiate such a thing, but Dean was looking down at their bodies. "Alright," he said, "guess we better get this show on the road, then."

Castiel had the distinct impression that Dean was humoring him, and he found it – irritating. This sexing was supposed to be for Dean's benefit; it wasn't as though angels were even capable of properly enjoying sex. Rather than responding, he transported them both directly to the bathroom.

"Warn a guy!" Dean yelped. He looked around. "Uh, Cas, what are we doing in the john?"

"The sink is a good height for our respective body sizes," Castiel explained. "And it will be best for your shoulder."

"Is that Angel for 'bend over'?" asked Dean, staring at the sink.

"You said this was the best position," said Castiel calmly. "It will be the easiest for you."

"Right, then." But Dean didn't move. One of his hands rested uncertainly at the waistband of his boxers, but he made no motion to remove them.

"Dean," said Castiel.

Dean looked over at him. "What? I'm … working up to it."

"This isn't about – domination," said Castiel carefully. "I want this to be enjoyable for you." He could remember the human need for reassurance, even if he didn't remember exactly how it all worked.

"I know," said Dean, but he was still looking at the sink. Castiel chanced another look into Dean's mind and found him thinking: This is what it will be like, when Michael rides me into Hell. The thought was so unexpected that Castiel jerked out of Dean's head, and looked at him, unblinking.

Castiel didn't want him to think those things tonight.

"Dean …" he said. Then he stopped, not sure what to say or do. Castiel had enjoyed being fucked, and he wanted Dean to enjoy it too, but he remembered that the sensations were overwhelming and the emotional responses could interfere with the pleasure. He was very concerned with helping Dean enjoy himself as much as possible, which meant he had to relax and trust Castiel. He anticipated that this might be a little difficult for Dean to do.

"Here," he said, finally, taking Dean's hand. Maybe he wasn't exactly sure how to be reassuring, but there was a shower in the bathroom, and humans liked showers – he had often noted this when he observed them. And Dean frequently enjoyed them in a sexual way, too. Castiel didn't know if it was the warm water or the sound that was soothing, but he was confident that it would help Dean relax.

He turned on the water with a glance at the showerhead, and then he used his grace to bring it instantly to the right temperature. It would never turn cold or vary by even a degree. "Come along, Dean."

Dean slipped out of his clothes and followed him under the water, sighing in pleasure as he stepped under the stream. Castiel watched the drain fill with dirt and blood. Dean pulled the dressing away from his shoulder and let it fall in a sodden pile, scrubbing at the wound with the bar of soap until the water ran clear.

"This was a – good idea?" asked Castiel cautiously.

Dean slid his arm around Castiel's waist and tugged him closer, so they both stood under the water. "Great idea," he said. The sensation of liquid streaming over his head was … unpleasant. It dripped into his eyes. Humans were very strange.

"That is good," said Castiel, quietly. He looked into Dean's smiling face and wished again that he knew how to initiate the kissing.

"I guess angels don't really get dirty, huh?"

"Not beyond the spiritual sense, no." Dean rubbed sudsy hands over his short hair, then playfully mussed Castiel's hair as well. Perhaps this human joviality was an indication that he desired further physical contact?

"Would you like to make the sex now?"

"Have sex, Cas. The expression is have sex. Or make … make love." Dean looked away. "And, uh, sure, I'll have the sex with you now, I guess."

"I am happy to hear that," said Castiel. Carefully he stretched up on his bare feet so their faces were close together. But he didn't bring them any closer. "Would you like to lean against the wall, Dean? That is usually the preferred position in these circumstances."

"You don't watch humans get their moves on," said Dean, suspiciously, turning slowly so that his back was to Castiel. "Right, Cas? Like, you don't watch me, do you? Cas?"

"You probably shouldn't distract me right now," said Castiel, "I've never done this before." He brought his body up close against Dean's.

"Not exactly the answer I was looking for," Dean said. He was slippery in the water, his hair slicked back, sleek and seal-like. Castiel reached an imperious hand to press him lower against the wall, positioning him more satisfactorily.

Dean took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He could do this. He was used to pain, heck, he had once been torn to pieces and dragged down to hell, this was nothing he couldn't handle. He un-tensed slowly and kept his position, white-knuckled against the tile.

Cas pushed one finger right up into him, and Dean felt his body swallowing it down easily. He groaned and willed himself to accept it, to keep his muscles nice and loose. Took some deep breaths, even if it felt wrong to use his father's relaxation techniques for this.

"Dean," said Castiel, pulling to a stop.

"What?"

"Dean, you know I will stop if you want me to."

"Yeah, I – I know you would."

Castiel sighed. "It's alright, Dean. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm not a pussy! I can take it! Just go."

He felt Castiel press forward, and thought, shit, no lube, almost said something, but he didn't. Dean grunted, his whole body tightening around the point of pressure. Just get through this, he reminded himself. He can't last long. This thought made him smile, just a little. Then he felt Cas slip further into him and he bit down on his bottom lip, hard.

"Tell me to stop," said Cas. "Tell me, and I will." But Dean couldn't, just as Cas knew he couldn't.

It felt … strange. Not too bad – a little like taking a crap, but in reverse. Dean had gone through worse. And Cas felt kind of good, keeping him still, hands tight on Dean's hips and immovable behind him. The water seemed to stream around them without hitting, and he wondered if Cas was doing it. Probably. The steam was still nice.

Cas reached around and started jacking him off at the root, hard, no lube, and it hurt – God – but it felt so good, too. He didn't rub the slit or cradle his balls or anything else Dean liked, just kept that firm grip at the root of him and rubbed hard enough to probably leave a mark.

"This way," said Cas over the sound of the shower, "because this is how you want it to be."

Despite what he'd promised, Castiel did used a little 'mojo' to ease himself into Dean, making himself a little easier to accept; but he had created this body, and he knew what it needed.

"Alright, Dean?"

"Move," said Dean. "Move, fuck."

He pulled his human up into a better position and began to move, slowly and steadily. "Dude, could I be any more of the girl in this situation?" Dean complained, hesitantly shifting his weight. Castiel kept his thrusts even and let him mouth off, knowing it was Dean's way of dealing with emotions.

He sped up but kept perfect time, mechanically precise, and Dean was too embarrassed to say the things he would like to say, words like please and more and yes, and maybe Cas, Cas, Cas – they were trapped behind his throat, cut off from the air, so he just tried to keep quiet.

"I hear you, Dean," said Cas.

Then he pressed in harder, deeper, and Dean grunted and gasped as he picked up the pace, hitting the same place over and over. And after that there was only white-hot pleasure and the pounding of the water, and Dean's jumbled thought that he was coming in a rush, like he had fucking struck oil.

Of course Castiel no longer needed to ejaculate, but he knew that Dean wouldn't enjoy himself if he didn't think his partner had found release. So he opened the vas deferens and pushed Jimmy's seed out through the tip of his cock, and he felt deep satisfaction, not the way it had felt as a human, but something calmer and more certain, like the last tumbler of a lock falling into place.

Then he settled himself over the length of Dean's back, remembering from when he was human how he important it had been to feel safe and protected after sex. He stroked Dean's flanks as he came down from his orgasm, listening to his panting breaths slowly start to taper off.

Then they stood together under the streaming water, until finally Castiel twisted his fingers and shut it off.

"God, Cas," said Dean, and Castiel couldn't think of anything else to add.

He knew that this was probably the last time he would be able to be with Dean in this way. It was different, for both of them, when he was an angel. And despite his still-waning powers, he didn't plan on being anything close to human ever again. He would find his Father and prevent the apocalypse, and Dean would never have to fight either of their brothers.

"I know what you're thinking," said Dean, stepping slowly away for him and reaching for one of the thin, scratchy towels. "You have to go."

Castiel pressed their lips together finally, just the faintest brush of pressure, and then withdrew. "Yes," he said. "But I will come back. I will always come back."

Dean grabbed him by the shoulders, which were suddenly redressed and dry, and kissed him, hard and fierce, leaving hand-shaped water marks on the pristine fabric. "You'd better," he said.

Castiel nodded gravely, and in the beat between the blink of a human eye, he was gone.

Alone in a bathroom full of steam, Dean stretched slowly and shook his head. "Angels," he said.

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The End

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A/N: You can find more Supernatural fics at my livejournal, coragyps(dot)livejournal(dot)com