Dean yells at him. Dean always seems to be yelling these days, and although Castiel tries to make the effort, sometimes his ears simply refuse to obey and the words blur into empty noise. They become waves, roaring and angry and demanding, and Castiel doesn’t have the energy to ride them out in figuring out their meaning, so he falls down, down, under, down—
“Are you even listening to me?” There Dean goes again. At least Castiel heard that one.
“I didn’t know. How many other ways do you want me to say it? This body isn’t my own, I don’t know its intricacies, is that really my fault?” This is what Castiel means to say, but his mouth isn’t cooperating very well at the moment.
Dean grumbles and curses. There is movement somewhere beyond the comforting darkness of Castiel’s closed eyelids, and then more yelling – not at Castiel, though, which is nice. Footsteps move around him, and then Castiel feels hands tightening warm cloth against his skin and folding his limbs tight together.
“You’re human now,” Dean says, voice close to Castiel’s ear. “Humans get cold. C’mon, you know how it works, you’re not stupid.”
Castiel would beg to differ.
The footsteps and other voices fade away, but someone is still touching him. It has to be Dean, who’s pressing a palm to his temple and wrapping a warmed cloth around his head. Castiel knows what Dean smells like, how he breathes, how he manages to make a sigh sound so angry and sad and relieved at the same time.
“You’re not allowed to go anywhere, you hear me? That’s an order.”
Shut up, Castiel can’t say. Be quiet, go away, stop touching me like that, I’m not fragile.
“We only got each other now.” Dean’s voice goes soft, and Castiel’s body shudders for reasons that have little to do with the cold inside his flesh. This is when Dean is at his most dangerous. “Cas, I know you can hear me.” Weight presses against Castiel’s back, foreign arms settling along the lines of Castiel’s body.
There is no touch of skin against skin but that makes it more intimate somehow. Dean touches Castiel all the time, but there’s a deliberate strength here that it makes it different from the friendly pats and swipes that Castiel is used to. Dean is fitting himself to Castiel’s body, demanding that his presence be notices and feeding blessed (unwanted) warmth to where it’s needed.
Dean murmurs, “If I found out you did it on purpose…”
Castiel can’t answer, but he wants to. So what if Dean finds evidence of such a thing? What can he do? How will he react? How will it in any way affect any of Castiel’s decisions from this point on?
“Hey.” A hand cups Castiel’s chin, Dean’s breath tickling his skin. “Hey, I’m not mad at you, it’s just… It’s scary, okay. You scared the crap out of me. Oh, hi there.”
Castiel’s managed to open his eyes, though he isn’t sure this improves the situation. There’s relief at seeing Dean’s face, but seeing Dean means that he has to see Dean, and worse yet, Dean doesn’t have his mask on. He is terrifyingly beautiful like this, kind eyes and warm smile filling up almost the whole space of Castiel’s limited vision, and Castiel just doesn’t have the defenses to deal with that at the moment.
“What did you do?” Dean whispers, visibly disturbed by whatever he must see in Castiel’s eyes. “Geez, Cas, you could’ve—” He kisses Castiel then, a sudden press of lips that steals Castiel’s breath. It’s unexpected and shocking, Dean’s mouth a holy furnace that manages to do what the wrapping and the heater could not.
Castiel tilts his head up, wanting. Please, he can’t say. Please.
Dean kisses him again, lingering and sweet, his breath hot on Castiel’s trembling mouth. “You’re not gonna do anything like that again, are you?” He waits patiently, then makes a cooing sound when Castiel manages to shake his head. “Good. Thank you, Cas.”
Then the kisses get better, longer, slower. Castiel relishes every one.