A/N: First (completed) SPN fic, so excuse me for any OOC-ness or anything else equally horrible. I'm still getting used to these charecters and this is not at ALL how I originally imagined I'd be using them, at least not at first. I was expecting like. Bros, bros, and more bros. But then this came out. So anyways uh... Enjoy.

Word Count: 6,400-ish

Pairing(s): Cas/Dean, Dean/ladies, offhand use and mention of Dean/Lisa

Warning(s): Filed under things-I'm kind-of-embarrassed-for-writing. dominant!Castiel, slight dubcon, kind of het sexual situations, slash sexual situations, profound bonds, questionable timeline, slight BSDM themes, slight blood play, chick flick moments. Mentions of torture, but not by Cas (i.e. Hell), bad-touches, wet dreams, daddy issues, the Angstchesters, fallen!Cas. Sex, sex, and more poorly written sex or, at least, distinctly sexual situations/foreplay. Nothing that explicit though, at least not for ffnet standards. And also cuddles. And mentions of noncon. And cockblocker!Sam. And lots of dick-grabbing. And... Wow I really hope that's it...

Five Times Cas Slipped Into Dean's Dreams Uninvited, and One Time He Didn't

Contrary to former belief, Castiel did not and does not get off on watching people sleep. Not even when he was with Dean, and not even when his sleeping face was so peaceful and animated and beautiful and-

Castiel did not get off on watching people sleep.

However, occasionally, there was a guilty pleasure attached to such things. Sometimes, just sometimes, Castiel gave in to the small, invasive animal desires inside him and "get off." And while it does involve a sleeping Dean and a good deal of mischief, it's not quite what Dean would be thinking.

Or maybe in a way, it would be. Cas tries not to think about it too hard.

5.

The first time Cas does it Dean is dreaming of burgers.

Not just any burgers. It's the burger joint Dean and Sam went to for Dean's thirteenth birthday. They'd already been having a good time themselves that day, laughing at old stories and pretending to hit on the women in the booth next to them even though they were at least sixty and Sam still firmly believes in cooties. But it was John's surprise arrival that marked the day as superb - they all got along and laughed their problems away. By the end they had declared the place the house of the best burgers in existence, even though the burgers themselves were mid-grade at best and Sam had a salad.

That was the setting. In the dream, however, Dean was not so lucky. He sat alone in an empty booth in an equally empty burger joint, eating a tasteless dream-burger. In the way dreams are Dean was certain that John was supposed to be coming with Sammy soon but, thus far, there had been no arrivals and his phone remained silent on the table.

Forgotten? Dean sighed and leaned back in the booth.

A part of Cas wanted to fix the dream for Dean. Render John and Sam to make the dream a good one. Normally, perhaps he would have. But today Castiel was here for his own purposes and Dean would only be unhappy to wake up from that, anyway.

Dean looked up from the booth to footsteps approaching, expecting his father. Instead he was approached by a burger joint waitress with a gorgeous body, long blonde hair, and distinctly familiar blue eyes that, while Dean couldn't place them, struck something in him.

"Well, hello there," Dean said, smirking. The waitress said nothing, but she smiled. "What's your name?" he tried again.

The waitress shrugged lightly and, to Dean's surprise, slid into the booth beside him. "I'm whoever you need me to be, Dean Winchester," she said, red lips sliding against his ear. Dean blinked - A dream, then. But an extremely potent dream none the less - he swore he could really feel the waitresses hands sliding against his chest, sending tingles down his spine. Dean's eyes fluttered shut.

The waitress smiled. The nice thing about dreams, Cas thought, was that you could be whoever you want to be. And right now Castiel, Angel of Thursday wanted to be a nameless burger joint waitress with hands down Dean's pants.

"W-Woah, girl," Dean stammered, eyes flying open. Typically, in real life and his dreams, the girls were fairly passive in their approach. Apparently dream-waitress had other ideas, though, and her lips - strangely chapped for one wearing lipstick - crashed against his with blind hunger. Dean couldn't help it - he groaned, loudly, the sound made only all the more unrelenting when the waitress's hands pressed against the growing bulge in his pants and squeezed. Hard.

Castiel wondered vaguely if he would be considered a rapist for this but, as far as he could tell, Dean had no objections. In fact as soon as that noise - beautiful, delicious, vibrating on lips - escaped Dean was pushing in again, hands sliding around Cas's - no. Sliding around the waitress's waist, gripping her rear and pulling her snug against him.

Dean couldn't have known it (he was hardly concerned with the pleasure of an apparition) but every rock of hips that would do little for a real waitress were sending streaks of pleasure straight to Cas's not-very-female areas. Castiel had to bite back a very loud, very real moan, burying his - no - her face against Dean's shoulder.

"More," the waitress whispered. "I want all of you." Dean's eyes flew open in surprise (Did dream girls normally talk like that?) only to be suddenly trapped in a startling blue gaze. The waitress brought the hand not already busy with Dean's cock to cup his cheek. "You are mine, Dean Winchester."

Dean swallowed hard. "Okay," he said. "Fine. Can we get back to sex in a diner booth now?"

"Always so courteous," the waitress mused. But the complaint was an empty one because soon her hand was doing things and Dean was throwing his head back, biting back whatever moans he could until the waitress leaned up and whispered, "Stop that. I want to hear you." And, well, Dean didn't really want to argue with her there.

Dean was just thinking that, really, her hands felt a lot bigger than they looked when Sam burst through the diner room door, looking distressed. "Dean! Wake up! Holy shit - Dean!"

The waitress sighed deeply before promptly vanishing.

Dean groaned and awoke to find that he had the worst kind of boner and the vampire had found their hotel room. Needless to say he forgot all about the dream, and he was much too busy ganking vamps to take any notice of the blushing invisible angel sitting on the edge of his bed.

4.

The second time Castiel sneaks into Dean's dream with "bad intentions" he doesn't have to try too hard. There's already a girl lounging away on Dean's dream-bed, apparently a saved damsel from a previous bit of dream judging by the blood painting Dean's t-shirt. All Castiel had to do was slip into that girl's form - a tiny, wide eyed, apple pie sort of girl with braided brown hair and a dozen freckles per cheek - and he was golden.

"Thank you for saving me," the damsel said, quietly. Dean would have said 'no problem' but he was too busy being distracted by the wide blue eyes by he swore we're brown before. She batted her eyelashes. "How can I possibly repay you? We'll be here all night before my debt could possibly be paid."

Dean blinked. The girl had seemed so… docile before. Damn subconscious, making everything kinky. Too much porn.

In any case Dean climbed onto the bed beside her, giving her his best charming smile. Before he can get a word in, though, the girl says, "Not much time," and pushes him down, chapped lips pressing hard against his.

Not much time? Dean doesn't have time to ponder it; the girl is already tearing his shirt open, bending to devour his neck. Dean groaned and threw his head back, then stopped, eyes screwing.

Why was he "the girl" in this situation?

That concern did not last long, however, before the girl evidently grew bored of his neck and moved on to sliding her fingers over the bulge in his boxers. Where his pants had disappeared to was beyond him but, well, this was a dream and damn if he couldn't feel everything like it was real, including but not limited to the girl's teeth digging into his collar bone.

Dean's facial expressions were beautiful. Castiel arched his neck to witness it, reveling in every twist of feature, every open mouthed moan he could elicit from him with the girl's hands, the girl's mouth. It was a pity that it couldn't last too long - Sam would be awake soon. Damn that Sam, always awake at the wrong intervals.

On this thought Castiel - no; the girl squeezed Dean's cock, fingers sliding around to cup his balls. Dean's eyes rolled back and he moaned, loudly: "Oh, God."

Oh.

The dream changed abruptly. The girl vanished and only Dean remained for a long, tremulous moment. Dean blinked, shaking slightly from exertions stimulus, and sat upright. When he did it was to find Castiel sitting in a chair across the room with a cold, serious look in his eyes.

"Fricken angels," Dean said, more a greeting than anything else. "Why don't you ever show up during the bad dreams?"

Castiel just looked at him. "You should not shout my father's name when you're in bed with..." Castiel scowled ever so slightly. What was his argument again? "...apparitions," he finished, somewhat lamely. "That is very much the equivalent to your mate screaming "John" during the particularly pleasurable instances."

Dean scoffed, momentarily horrified by the thought, then froze. "Were you... Watching me?"

Castiel blinked at him, then smiled, just barely. "Don't be ridiculous, Dean. The watching bit was only a few choice seconds before I materialized." Well, it wasn't a lie, technically.

Dean frowned. "So why are you here?"

Castiel shrugged. "You were making a fuss in your sleep when I came to check on you and Sam. I thought you might have been having a nightmare." There, now he was lying.

"Uh, well." Dean cleared his throat. "I wasn't."

When Castiel vanished Dean awoke. The angel wasn't there anymore, but Sam was awake and giving him the strangest look. Dean frowned. "What?"

But Sam wouldn't tell him.

3.

It wasn't every time that Castiel did something erotic with his time there. Occasionally he would just wander in, invisible, and watch Dean in his dreams. Watching him fish, watching him fight monsters, watching him with his brother. Castiel observed every memory that flitted through Dean's subconscious with unabashed delight (although it hardly showed on his face). He recognized this was invading Dean's privacy, sure, but it was how Cas coped and it simply was not an angel's nature to mind its own business.

This instance, however, should have been where the line was drawn. Cas recognized it immediately as he dropped into the dream, throat going parched.

That night, Dean dreamed of Lisa.

He'd only recently left her, Cas knew. This was where the guilt first set in. Castiel felt horrible about the whole ordeal, because it made Dean feel horrible, but really? In Cas's deepest heart of hearts, he was glad things had crashed and burned with Dean's apple pie family. He would never tell Dean, not ever, but in the time Lisa and Dean were "playing house" Castiel kept one ear open always, always for a prayer from Dean. Desperate for his call, as if he might suddenly need him, want him, care about him as more than just a holy power-tank to help gank various baddies. But the call never came and Cas stopped hoping and, eventually, it fell apart anyways. And if Castiel ever said he wasn't happy to see Dean unattached again, he'd be lying.

So to say that peering into Dean's dream to see a foggy, loving memory of Lisa and Dean cuddled together on the couch, watching a James Bond movie, cuddly and content, struck a sour note in Cas would be an understatement. Because Castiel loved Dean, shared a profound, irrefutable bond with him whether the hunter knew it or not - he couldn't help the surge of jealousy he felt at the sight.

Whether or not that was a proper excuse for slipping into Lisa's form that night, well, Cas couldn't tell you. But any guilt slipped away as he felt Dean tighten his arms around him, pulling him - no her Lisa oh well - flush against his chest.

"I can't believe you like this crap," Dean murmured. Although his words were condescending Cas could feel the affection playing through them and he closed his eyes, smiling as Dean leaned down to kiss his - her forehead.

"They're classics," Castiel argued, more or less because he didn't know anything about James Bond but he'd heard Dean use that argument successfully plenty of times without reason. Smiling to himself at the successful human interaction Cas - Lisa, damn all - curled closer to Dean, content to simply watch him out of the corner of his eye for the remainder of the night.

Dean just shrugged and kissed his lover again, between her eyes, brushing his hands up her arms. He hadn't a clue that he was dreaming and, even if he did, these were not the kind of dreams his masochist of a subconscious allowed him to remember in the morning.

But if he woke up with a happy feeling in his chest and the distinct confusion of what color Lisa's eye color was the next day, well, it couldn't be helped.

Cas took on Lisa's form plenty of times after that until, at some point, the dreams of her all turned to nightmares and he obliterated them completely.

2.

Occasionally, there would be nightmares. Those were impossible to watch and Castiel rarely allowed their existence, either tapping Dean awake or twisting the nightmare into a good dream.

Dean dreamed of Hell. Those were the worst for Castiel - he'd seen Hell, both in "field trips" as a young angel (never too close, of course) and when he had to raise Dean from its depths, but Castiel couldn't imagine staying there for years as Dean had. In fact, he didn't want to be able to; he obliterated these dreams from Dean's mind faster than any.

This night, however, Cas can't wake Dean. In a fit of insomnia, he'd taken some ungodly amount of sleeping pills to knock himself out, and there would be no rousing him. So Castiel stood aside, grappling with the dream, using his Grace to try and push the horrors aside to make way for happier things, but this dream was annoyingly potent in its reality.

"Fuck," the angel whispered.

Dean screamed, back arching and writhing as the demon above him carved into his chest. It wasn't Alistair this time, to Cas's bewilderment, but an especially cruel demon none the less; despite its human figure it was horrifying and demonic just by expression, the way it held itself more animal, more monster than man. Castiel hesitated, trying one last push at Dean's subconscious, but to no avail and Dean's shrieks ripped through the air. Castiel shuddered; right. He'd have to do this manually.

Ignoring the revulsion towards the idea Castiel pushed himself into the dream.

Dean didn't know he was dreaming. When he dreamed of Hell he was in Hell, so deep into his own dark memories that he wasn't aware of anything else but the slide of the knife over his chest. This demon was taking his sweet time, carving who-knows-what into his flesh, never so deep that Dean would be allowed to lose consciousness. Dean didn't want to cry out, to give him the satisfaction, but then, his pride was long gone by now. Hell did that to a guy.

Then, abruptly, something changed. One moment the demon was horrible, grinning and monstrous, human eyes tainted with such cruelty they chilled even Dean Winchester, arched over him like a predator ready to eat him alive. The next the demon was suddenly standing perfectly straight, eyes closed, a peaceful sort of blankness overcoming his features. Dean sucked in a few desperate breaths before choking out, "What, having an orgasm, you sick fuck?" because really, some things never change.

The demon's eyes opened and Dean more-or-less lost his shit.

Blue. Pure, fathomless, beautiful blue.

"I am sorry, I do not think I would be so quick to mock me, given your position," said the demon, a smile tracing his features. It was not a cruel smile so much as an amused one, but still Dean felt his blood go cold. The demons, other than Alistair, very rarely spoke to him, and never in the motif of an actual conversation and not just taunts.

"What the fuck?" Dean yanked on his shackles, face twisting in anger. A poor disguise for fear, Cas thought.

"Language, Dean," the demon muttered. Dean stared at him wide eyed as he turned and unhooked the shackles on Dean's ankles, pressing almost delicate touches to the cuts and sores they'd caused in Dean's struggle.

Dean was just considering trying to kick the demon's face in when that option was put out if bounds. Cas - no. The demon flipped up to straddle him on the table, hands sliding over his injured chest, smearing the scarlet liquid onto his hands. Despite himself Dean's breath caught, eyes fogging - why did that feel so good?

And, another thought, voiced aloud: "Oh, God, please no. Not this."

The demon smiled and Cas could feel a tug in his heart. He wanted to change forms completely, meld into his true self and heal him, but he couldn't give himself away, not now. Castiel sighed and pushed the demon's face against Dean's neck, breathing him in. "Don't be afraid," he whispered. "I won't hurt you."

"You already hurt me," Dean said, anger dripping off his words, but the little gasping noises he made in response to the demon's teeth scraping against his neck killed any effect the words might have had. The demon chuckled a little sadly, scooting down on Dean's body to kiss and lap at the wounds on his chest. Dean could feel the demon growing hard against his thigh and realized he was pretty rock solid himself. "Shit."

"Language," the demon repeated. Dean paled a bit, fighting down the growing arousal - wrong wrong wrong - within him as the demon slid his hand into his pants. "I want you, Dean." Blue eyes flashed, hunger evident in their depths. "I'll get what I want eventually. In the end..." A hand brushed to Dean's shoulder and Dean choked on a gasp, confused, a little scared. The demon smiled. "In the end, you're already mine, Dean Winchester."

Castiel - no - the demon's chapped lips brushed against Dean's, and his eyes flew open. Awake.

A dream.

Dean flew upright on the crappy motel bed, clutching his chest, fighting to work air into his lungs. What kind of bizarre, fucked up dream was that? And why did he have a boner? Shit, he did have a boner. Dean flushed and turned around to find that, to his dismay, Sam was staring at him. Again.

As this had been happening more than a little lately, Dean snapped. "What? Not used to my nightmares yet?"

Sam blinked, as if out of a trance. "Oh, was that what they were?"

"They?"

Sam shook his head, smiling dubiously. "Ok, don't sock me -"

"No promises."

"-but lately in your sleep... You've kinda been... Shouting."

Dean turned red, maybe from embarrassment, maybe from anger, he really didn't know. "So what?"

"Dean... You were shouting 'Cas.' And not in a nightmare kind of way, either."

Dean doesn't sock him, but he kind of wants to sock himself.

1.

It had been a while since Castiel had done it. He'd been busy, what with the civil-war/ Crowley-deal/ fate-of-the-universe thing keeping him occupied, but he needed it this day. Dean had been acting distant lately, not that anyone could blame him really, but Castiel wanted him. He wanted him so desperately that quite a few times outside dream-land he'd very nearly just kissed him, consequences be damned. But, of course, he didn't.

Castiel was in for a surprise, however, when he appeared in Dean's dream only to find his image stating back.

Indeed, Cas was already in Dean's dream without any prompting, already there with cold stares and hands sliding through Dean's hair. Castiel, the real Castiel, stared in disbelieving wonder as Dean reached out and touched his image, bushed his thumbs over his cheeks.

Dean couldn't place just when Castiel stopped being an angel he loved like a brother and ignored the occasional bursts of sexual tension with to being the object of his fantasies. It wasn't as if he went to sleep one night and decided to start dreaming about Cas, even as he (rather belatedly) realized his feelings. But now that he did, he couldn't stop, and he dreams just got stranger and stranger.

It was stranger tonight than ever, because one moment Dean was tracing his fingernails over Castiel's cheekbones, contemplating the mechanics of flight-sex, and the next he was stunned into silence by perfect, rapturous blue eyes.

He'd never been able to get the eyes right in his previous Cas-dreams. Their depth always eluded even his imagination. But there they were, big and blue and heavenly.

"Cas," Dean whispered, and he could feel it, the mark on his shoulder, burning and tingling so bad it hurt but not so much that Dean dared pull away. Castiel smiled faintly, then let it fade, eyebrows drawing together. Dean frowned. "Cas?"

"Oh, Dean," Cas whispered, brushing his hands over Dean's face. "You confuse me terribly."

Dean flushed, stunned. He'd never been able to get the voice right, either.

But those thoughts, however important, we're quickly extinguished by Castiel's lips pressed against his. Fighting down a moan Dean returned the kiss with vigor, the inhibition of dream land giving Dean no reason not to push Cas against the wall. Castiel didn't seem to mind thr activity, but apparently he did mind the position because Dean found himself flipped and slammed into the wall instead. That was new, too, but Dean really couldn't find the heart to care, because this dream felt way too real and, consequently, way too good. So he was being submissive; what-the-fuck-ever, Castiel was an angel of the Lord, he could have dominance if he wanted it if it felt this good.

"Why is this OK now, Dean," Cas muttered against his lips. "Why didn't you tell me before? Why don't you tell me? Such cowards."

Deans voice comes out an octave higher than intended when Cas's hands slide down his sides: "Plural?"

"Me, too."

And then Dean has no time to question that, either, because Cas grabbed the loops on his jeans and yanked. It shouldn't have gone so smoothly (wouldn't have, in real life) but suddenly Dean is nude on the bottom with his garments pooled at his feet and Cas is staring down at him with such blatant appreciation that Dean shuddered. "Um... Cas?"

"Yes, Dean," Cas said, not really an answer to anything. He reached down and none too delicately spread Dean's legs apart, exposing his, well, everything for a few trembling moments before Cas slid in, hips grinding into hips. Dean threw his head back, unable to hold in a moan.

They'd both long forgotten the setting of the dream, had there ever been one to begin with, but there were certainly walls and every noise that Cas ripped out of Dean bounced off them and echoed in his ears. Castiel was in fact so deep in the pleasure Dean was feeling, captured and echoed through his Grace, that the unspoken things –

'What does this mean?

Am I just a sex object for you, or more?

I love you. Do you love me?

I almost wish you didn't.

Lying to you was so hard already.'

—died on his lips in favor of a gut wrenching moan and an increase of rhythm as he thrusted his hips against Dean's.

Still, Cas whispered one thing, because he was seeing white before long even though he never removed his pants and Dean was coming along and echoing off his Grace - ecstasy, lust, oh - and he couldn't quite gather his thoughts enough to think not to do so.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, Dean Winchester. More than anything, more than anyone, anything, more than myself, I love you."

Dean was already seeing stars but he opened his mouth, swallowed his pride, and tried to say it. Would have said it, because damn if he didn't mean it, but then Cas's hand was over his mouth and the other hand was on his cock and his fathomless blue eyes were on his and he said, "Hush. Come for me, Dean. I would very much like to feel you hit climax."

And Dean really couldn't argue with that.

It had been a long time since Dean had had a legitimate wet dream. In fact, if he was right, his last one was when he was twelve and still dreaming of exaggerated playboy girls and Wonder Woman. So he's a little surprised when he wakes up to a wet lap and a ruined pair of boxer shorts.

He's more surprised when, just as he's getting up from the bed to hurry off the shower, there's a rustle of wings.

"Hello, Dean. Did you sleep well?"

Dean shouted wordlessly in surprise, nearly flipping over the bed in his backwards scramble. Groaning, he rubbed his temples. "Fuckin' angels," he muttered.

Castiel, true to form, just stared at him. Dean prayed silently to whatever non-dickhead-Gods may exist that Cas didn't notice the wet patch on his jeans. Castiel sighed; he saw it well enough, but he also saw that, apparently, Dean didn't suspect him of anything. He wasn't positive whether he was relieved or not.

But:

"Good dreams, I take it?" Castiel asked, unable to resist. At some point along the way, he'd figured out a few ways to make Dean blush. And, sure enough, Dean's face flashed scarlet.

"Uh, yeah. How'd you know?"

Cas titled his head slightly. "Well, you don't look especially distressed, and there are distinct feelings of something euphoric emanating from your soul."

Dean flushed deeper. "Profound bond," he muttered. "Right." He sighed and grabbed a pillow, covering his lap with it. Cas watched this with interest; he knew full well just what Dean was hiding, but it baffled him all the same. Was that all because of him? Dean forced a smile. "Alright, Feathers, what's up? Demon attack? Apocalyptic catastrophe? Pissed off angel brothers? Lucifer having another drama queen fit? What?"

Castiel blinked; he'd actually forgotten to think up an excuse before he flew in, all too eager to see Dean in his post-dream state. Knowing he was the worst sort of liar in this respect, he aimed for the truth: "I simply wanted to see you, Dean. I had a spare moment."

Dean blinked. "What, just me? Not..." He gestured towards his brother, who was currently fast asleep, buried in hotel blankets.

Cas dropped his gaze for a moment, then looked at Dean again. "I care very much for Sam, you know that. But it is... Not the same way I care for you. It is... It's..."

"Profound?" Dean smiled sarcastically, ignoring the girlish drumming of his heart in his chest. Castiel shot him a grave look and his smile faded, however quickly replaced by an expression of shock as Cas stepped across the room to him. "Personal space, Cas," he managed.

"No," Castiel said, quietly. And Dean watched, speechless, as the angel pushed his hand under Dean's sleeve, hand fitting perfectly in the scalded mark there. Dean didn't know why (How could he? He was no angel.) but for a moment he saw white at the touch, gasping aloud.

Cas smiled, but somehow it was sad. "Get some sleep, Dean," he whispered. "You, unlike I, will need it."

When Dean's vision cleared, Castiel was gone, but the tingling on the handprint did not cease. Despite all efforts against acting like a teenage girl with a crush, Dean nearly did, collapsing back into the bed with a warm, hopeful kind of feeling building in his chest. He wasn't gay, and Cas was an angel, and all of this was completely, stupidly crazy, but maybe, just maybe, things would go their way. Maybe, he thought, they could be happy.

Not seventy two hours later, Crowley turned out to be alive and, for a while, all was lost.

0.

It was a long time in coming.

Things had been hard after the whole Crowley/ purgatory/ souls/ massive daddy issues/ God thing occurred; of course they had! But, slowly but surely, everything shifted back into its easy course. Dean and Castiel were still on a bad rut, Dean bitter with betrayal and Cas desperate for forgiveness in his own monotone kind of way. Sam and Cas got on much like they always had - reluctantly. But Cas was like a brother to the Winchesters ("Brother in law, more like," Bobby would sometimes say, shaking his head at Dean and the angel.) and the Winchesters had forgiven each other for worse things. After all, Cas had given a lot for them and, in retrospect, Sam and Cas had a lot in common that way, while Dean simply kind of literally owed his life to Castiel.

So things moved on, as things always do.

Even if the after-math was Castiel losing his Grace. Or, at least, most of it.

It was something to be mourned, of course it was. Castiel missed his home, he missed his power, he missed his brothers. He missed it all. But, by some bout of mercy, he kept the most important thing (although he would never dare claim it as such): his profound bond.

Indeed, Cas could still feel the tingle inside of him from where he had marked Dean all that time even as he laid awake on the couch of a dusty hotel room, watching the rise and fall of Dean's chest. Being human was hard - he often forgot to eat and sleep unless one of the Winchesters cared to remind him, and he had to actually train his body in order to be of any use in a hunt now, but there were perks. Staying with the brothers, for one.

An excuse to be near Dean, for another. The elder Winchester, despite their unrelenting tension (not the sexual kind, for once) had been training Castiel in the ways of a true, human hunter. It was all quite exciting, to be honest, if not a bit disheartening; he missed his angelic powers, but he liked his time with Dean, and he liked the thrill of physical strain as well. And pie. Pie was quite nice.

Another downside: Castiel did have to sleep.

The inconveniences of the previous: Cas hadn't quite gotten used to the concept of sleeping and dreaming and quite often lost track of the difference between reality and dreamland. Worse, Cas's imagination was... Minimal, to say the least, and most of his dreams were in tune with reality.

So if Castiel got up off the couch free of inhibitions and smiling like a fool, it could only be assumed that he thought he was, in reality, fast asleep.

Dean was, in reality, very much not fast asleep. He had quite the array of nightmares on his pallet, sure, but worse was that Those Dreams - the Cas dreams - had begun again. And although Dean was ready to forgive Cas at this point, it was more than a little awkward now, especially since Castiel was relying on him so heavily for support and for guidance being newly human and all. To take advantage of that (not to mention the fact that Cas was a virgin, and entirely by choice or so it seemed) seemed five kinds of wrong to him.

Of course, that was before Castiel plopped onto the bed beside him. Dean startled, nearly flying out of he bed - despite the departure of his powers, Cas was still incredibly quiet and light on his feet, still constantly sneaking up on him. Some things, it seemed, wouldn't ever change.

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean whispered, flipping over on the bed to face him. The ex-angel gave him a sleepy smile, blue eyes half lidded; Dean rubbed his eyes. "Dude, you lost rock paper scissors; it's your turn to take the couch."

Dean might've said more, but Cas's hand was suddenly over his mouth, muting him. "Shhh," Cas whispered, voice a harsh, near-monotone whisper. "You are dreaming."

"I am not," Dean said, but against Castiel's palm it came out unintelligible. Castiel just blinked at him before (to Dean's shock) he copped a coy smile and pulled his hand away, wiggling closer on the bed.

"Dreams are nice, Dean," Cas whispered, and he pushed his palm to Dean's chest. Despite losing his power Castiel was still quite strong, and had little to no trouble pushing the flabbergasted hunter down and leaning over him, breath tickling Dean's lips. "You always liked the dreams, didn't you, Dean? You always had such sinful dreams, but mine were always the best."

Dean's eyes boggled - what the hell? - but Cas cut off any speech with his lips, swallowing all protests. The kiss flipped a switch within Dean, fight or flight instinct rushing through him. The fight instinct won out, as always - not as always, Dean laced his fingers through Castiel's dark hair and yanked him closer, crushing his lips hard against Cas's.

Castiel moaned, a tremble shooting down his spine. Say what one may about Grace - if feeling Lust and ecstasy echoing off of Dean had been good, experiencing it first hand with the added euphoria of the bond was indeed profound. And damn it all if Castiel, hunter of the supernatural, adopted brother of the Winchester clam, former Angel of the Lord didn't want more of it.

Heart drumming repaid-fire in his ears Castiel clawed at Dean's shirt, smiling when Dean raided his arms and allowed him to pull it off. Pausing for a moment to rip off his trench coat Cas descended again, mouthing eagerly at Dean's exposed neck and chest. Dean, not to be outdone, slid his hands down Castiel's body and, finding his ass, took two handfuls and squeezed. Cas gasped, caught off guard, and pressed his face into the crook of Dean's neck.

"Oh, mercy," Castiel gasped, digging his fingernails into Dean's forearms. "Dean..."

"Cas." Dean hummed and, in the heat of the moment forgetting the circumstances, kissed him lightly on the forehead.

Cas met his eyes; Dean lost his breath and himself in those endless wells of blue, mouth going dry. Cas tilted his head, expression as blank as ever, but his eyes were full of emotion that didn't need naming. Didn't need naming, because Cas named it just then, clear and plain as a mid-day coffee order:

"I love you, Dean Winchester, and you are mine."

Dean startled, feeling his face heat up. Because, seriously, what did you say to that in this scenario? Even if you did happen to maybe return the feelings and maybe even find the last bit incredibly hot and - Castiel's eyes widened.

"Oh. Oh, no." Castiel looked genuinely crestfallen, releasing his painful (wonderful) grasp on Dean's arms in favor of throwing his hands over his mouth. "I'm awake, aren't I? This is not a dream?"

Dean couldn't help it - he laughed. "What makes you say that?" he said. But Cas looked serious now, eyes welling with what Dean swore was something like agony.

"I knew," said Castiel, "because in the dreams you always say you love me, too."

Dean's mind went blank. Whether it was a set defense mechanism or simple shock, he wasn't sure. But Cas smiled at him in a way that spoke in volumes of understanding, of forgiveness. Of the angel he once was. And Castiel said, "I know you don't do 'chick flick moments,' Dean. It's OK. I didn't... I don't expect anything from you." He smiled awkwardly for a moment, then looked down at their position, lips twisting. "I think this feeling is probably... Embarrassment? Shame?"

Like an elastic band Dean snapped back to Earth. "Uh, yeah," he said, dazed. Then, quicker, "No! Don't, I didn't... Don't disappear. Err, well, not disappear anymore but - shit, okay dude. I don't mean you should be ashamed, OK? I mean... It's fine?" Damn, Dean was bad at this. But Cas just smiled.

Then, eyes lighting up: "If it's okay, then I'd be more than ample to finish this, while we are already here. My erection is somewhat painful and 'masturbation'" - he made the hand signals with a grimace - "does not seem satisfactory in comparison."

Dean's mouth went dry. His first reaction (which he very nearly accepted) was to moan 'oh fuck yes' and ravish Cas immediately. But, then: this was Cas. Beautiful Cas who had done so much for him, who would die for him, who would fall for him, who loved him, who was a virgin, who gave him feelings he'd never felt before. Cas who actually mattered.

So instead he brushed his hands through Cas's dark hair and he whispered, "Cas, man, I actually care about you. I don't want to... To..."

"Take advantage?" Castiel scoffed. "Please. I know your history, Dean Winchester; you've taken too many women to bed to even bother counting. I've lived thousands of years and not wanted anyone - anyone - but you." Dean froze as Cas slid his hand under his shirt again, feeling for the mark there. "I assure you, Dean, I am more than fine."

"But I..." Dean bit back a groan of frustration and, in a burst if spontaneity, grabbed Castiel's hand and pressed it harder to the mark, fighting the way white clouded his vision at the strange, burning contact to meet Cas's wide blue eyes. "You mean something to me, Castiel. I don't know how to explain it but there it is. I know we're bonded, and I know it's deeper and stronger than you let on, and damn if I don't actually give a damn. But if you get to call me yours, I get to call you mine; I won't have any of this prancing around the facts bullshit anymore. I want you, Castiel, not just this. This, definitely, but more, too; all or nothing. Deal or no deal?"

Castiel stared at him, momentarily stunned to silence by the rush of emotions he could feel slamming into him through the bond. Profound feelings, animal urges, desperate wants and needs, all aimed directly at him. Finally, though, he recovered; when he did, he was not ashamed to say there were the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "Deal," he whispered.

And then, because it was all too much to go on with such intensity, Cas giggled. "And that was pretty chick-flick-y if you ask me, Dean."

Dean growled, gripped Castiel by the shoulders, and said, "Oh, shut up and fuck me into next week.

Cas grinned and he leaned in, pressing chapped lips to Dean's. "That can be arranged," he replied.

Sam groaned and called out, desperately, from across the room, "Please don't."

"…Tomorrow," Cas relented. Dean just gave up and dissolved into laughter.

Reviews would be excellent, if only to inform me if I'm fucking this up too terribly. I'm sure I'll write something less... um... like this soon.