He’s on the ground. He’s on the ground and he’s in pain, and if he didn’t hear Sam laughing his ass off, he’d be worried that he was seriously hurt. His face is raw and he’s got a mouthful of dirt and Sam is still laughing his ass off.
Dean pushes up gingerly, spitting out stray bits of dirt and grass. He’s got a few new aches, but none quite so insistent as the one in his ankle, which is just beginning to throb in time with the beat of his heart.
“Dude, that was...” Sam’s still laughing, and he can barely get a word out. “I have never seen a demon do that. He flipped you.” More laughter. “Twice.”
Dean’s up on his feet now - well, foot - and he’s sort of hopping on his good foot. His balance is precarious, but he refuses - absolutely refuses - to reach out to Sam, because, really? Is it necessary to be that amused by the fact that Dean was flipped ass over tea kettle not once, but twice?
Dean hops over to the wall and braces himself there, glaring at Sam. “Go ahead, Sammy, laugh it up.” He’s dirty, he’s aching all over, and his palms sting where they dragged against the ground. He wants a hot shower and then he’s going to hobble into bed and sink into the memory foam. Then he’s going to try to sleep until next week. “Where’s Cas?”
“Here,” Cas says, wiping his hands on his jeans. Dean tries to hide his grin at the sight of his best friend looking scruffy and dirty, but whole. Since Cas fell, he’s been gradually moving away from his trench coat and suit and into more casual clothing, wearing Dean’s old jeans and t-shirts. Try as he might, he can’t squash the little thrill that swoops through him when he sees Cas wearing his clothing. It’s nothing compared to the relief he feels when he sees that Cas is unharmed.
“You okay, Cas?” Dean asks, just making sure.
Cas nods, but frowns as he sees Dean leaning heavily against the brick wall. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, just twisted my ankle,” Dean says. Sam starts laughing again.
“Cas, you should have seen it. The demon flipped Dean.” He picks up his shotgun and heads out of the abandoned warehouse they’d been fighting in, the sounds of his laughter echoing after him.
“The demon flipped you?” Cas asks, grabbing Dean’s arm and slinging it across his shoulders. He helps Dean hobble after Sam. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Worry fills his voice.
“Yeah Cas, I’m fine. Really.” He grimaces though, because it’s his right foot, and he doesn’t think he can drive. “Sam!” He digs into his jeans and tosses the keys to Sam, who catches them one-handed and unlocks the car. Cas helps Dean into the front seat and gets in the back.
The drive back to the Batcave is mostly punctuated by intermittent bouts of laughter from Sam and occasional worried glances from Cas directed at Dean. They manage to get Dean inside, and he limps down the hallway to grab a shower. It takes much longer than usual because he's working so hard to maintain his balance, but once he's finished, he feels much better.
His ankle still hurts like a bitch, though.
He settles into bed after wrapping his ankle tightly and falls asleep pretty quickly after that. He has strange dreams where he feels a little bit like he's flying, most of them ending with a great jarring thud as he relives the accident, so he's not as rested as he'd like to be when he wakes up.
"How are you feeling?" Cas asks from the chair at the side of his bed.
Dean startles. "Jesus, Cas, don't sneak up on me like that." He sits up, and gingerly tests his ankle. He immediately regrets it, hissing with the pain. Maybe not just a twisted ankle then, but a full on sprain. The throbbing is a dull roar now, demanding his attention, and he can see that he's wrapped it a bit too tightly now that it's so swollen, because the top of his foot peeking out from underneath the bandage is puffy and bright red.
"Here, let me," Cas says, and he carefully unwraps Dean's ankle and rewraps it so it's no longer cutting off Dean's circulation.
"Man, you don't have to do that, you know."
Cas smiles. "Yes, but I want to. Do you want anything? I can get you some soup or a sandwich."
"No, I'm good. Seriously Cas, you don't have to wait on me or anything. I just need some rest and I'll be good to go."
Cas's shoulders slump a bit at the dismissal, but he just nods and stands, scraping back the chair on the linoleum floor of Dean's room. He stares at Dean for a brief moment, and then leaves, closing the door gently behind him. Dean is really in too much pain to do anything about it, so he swings his leg back up onto the bed gently and tries to get comfortable.
Unfortunately, all he can concentrate on is the pain in his ankle, which becomes his whole existence. He lies there, staring at the ceiling unable to do much more than concentrate on the pain.
Eventually he drifts off to sleep, and when he wakes up he feels better, mostly. The ankle is still painful, enough so that he’s not going to be that mobile for the next few days, but it’s nothing like it was the night before. He manages to get up, go to the bathroom (sitting down was an interesting experience, but no way was he going to be able to manage a good long piss standing up), and brush his teeth without incident, so he considers the long trek down the hallway.
Dean opens the door just as Cas is about to knock. He’s got a tray in one hand, with a bowl of cereal, a glass of milk and, thank God, a cup of coffee.
“Good morning, Dean. I brought you breakfast,” Cas says unnecessarily. He frowns at Dean, who is hopping about a bit on his good leg. “Should you be doing that?” He puts the tray on the floor by the door and ushers Dean back to the bed.
“Oof,” Dean says as he’s pushed down by a well-meaning Cas. Meanwhile, Cas has bustled back to the hallway to get the tray. He puts it on the nightstand and hands Dean the cup of coffee. Dean takes it and blows on it before sipping. Cas’s coffee-making has gotten better in the last few weeks, and this cup is his best yet. This is, frankly, not really saying much. But it is getting better, and Dean tells Cas so.
Cas looks pleased, but the look is chased away by a sudden frown. “What were you doing up? You should be resting your foot.”
“Cas, I can manage to get around a little bit. If I have to stay in one place for too long, I’m gonna go crazy.”
Cas fiddles with the hem of the shirt he’s wearing. It’s one of Dean’s favorite plaids, a dark blue one that Dean won’t admit to lending Cas because it brings out Cas’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Dean.”
“For what?” Dean asks, and he’s uncomfortably aware of how it echoes an earlier conversation they’ve had.
“For not being able to heal you.” Cas inhales a fortifying breath. “If I were still...”
Dean shifts uncomfortably on the bed. He’d sort of been expecting this. “Cas, have a seat.” Dean pats the spot on the edge of the bed nearest to him. Cas hesitates, and then settles on the bed, perched stiffly, looking as if he’s going to fly away at any moment. Dean tries to tamp down the small feeling of satisfaction that he feels in his gut: Cas can’t just fly away any more. Dean knows it’s petty. He’s aware of this, but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a not very small part of him that is glad that Cas cannot leave.
“Cas I don’t care that you can’t heal me. First, this,” and here Dean waves at his ankle. “This isn’t a big deal.” Cas opens his mouth to argue, but Dean shakes his head stiffly and plows on, speaking over an objections Cas might have. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll be on my ass for a few days, maybe a week, and then I’ll be fine.”
“But,” Cas says, but this time Dean presses his fingers to Cas’s mouth.
“No. I’ll be fine.” He keeps his hand on Cas’s mouth for another minute, suddenly extraordinarily aware of the fact that not only is he very much in Cas’s personal space, but he is touching Cas. In a fairly intimate spot. He removes his hand slowly.
“I can’t be of much use to you like this,” Cas says, and Dean could bang his head against the headboard of the bed because it’s clear that Cas doesn’t get it.
Dean sits up and leans forward as far as he can into Cas’s personal space. “Cas, listen to me very carefully, okay?”
Cas’s eyes widen, but he just nods mutely.
Dean takes a minute to steady his shaky breathing and to will his heart to slow its rapid stuttering. He places his lips against Cas’s earlobe and whispers, “I need you here. I want you here. With me.” Dean lets that sink in, lets that settle, and leans back a little bit. “Just you. Not your powers. Not your strength.”
Cas is silent for a long moment, and Dean wonders if, despite everything, he’s read the whole situation wrong. Recently he’s been thinking that maybe Cas feels the same way he does, but now he’s not so sure. As Cas’s silence draws out, Dean gets more nervous, his stomach twisting in knots. He keeps his eyes on Cas’s cheek, watching the minute muscle movements underneath the skin. There are a few lines at the edges of Cas’s eyes that Dean hadn’t noticed before, and he wonders whether that’s a part of Cas becoming human.
“Dean, I...” Cas begins, but he rumbles to a halt.
Dean tries not to let the crushing weight of the rejection show on his face, because that’s not what Cas needs right now. He puts on a big, fake grin, one that he uses to get what he wants from receptionists and parking attendants who seem reluctant to talk to him, and he gears up to backpedal, to take it all back.
Just as Dean is about to say he was joking, he didn’t mean it, not really, Cas starts up again. “Is that what I’m feeling?”
“You know what, it’s okay Cas, I didn’t -- what?”
Cas presses his left fist against his sternum. “I feel -- When I’m with you, I feel better, but at the same time, worse. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe and...” Cas stops, scrunching his face up as he tries to put it into words. “Like I’m going to be violently ill. My teeth hurt, Dean, and I don’t know why.”
Dean bursts into laughter. He laughs, long and hard, feeling lighter than he’s felt in a long time.
“Dean, are you making fun of me?” Cas asks with a small frown. He’s trying to remain stern and irritated, but Dean’s laughter is infectious, and the corners of his mouth quirk up. He covers his mouth with his hand, but soon the laughter bubbles up out of him and he can’t stop. They laugh long and loud, like loons, really, and by the time they finally wind down, there are a few tears rolling down Dean’s face.
Dean wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, Cas. No, I am not making fun of you. Not at all, man.” Dean tries to scoot further forward, to crowd into Cas’s space again, but his ankle protests this move, and he hisses in pain.
“You shouldn’t...” Cas starts, but he stops immediately. “What are you trying to do?”
Dean blushes, the color crawling up his face heating it. “Move closer to you.”
“Oh. Well, why don’t I move instead?” Cas hesitates. “How do you want me?”
Dean’s mouth is suddenly dry. He knows Cas doesn’t mean it to be an innuendo, but it’s nearly impossible for Dean not to think about the ways in which he wants Cas. In his mind’s eye he sees a broad expanse of smooth skin, an exposed neck, and he sees his own hand trailing across the skin, can practically taste Cas on his tongue. He closes his eyes and inhales a shaky breath. He needs to focus on what’s going on now, and for that he needs to not think about Cas’s skin.
“Dean?” And damn if the deep rumble of that one syllable doesn’t hit all of Dean’s nerve endings, sending tendrils of fire throughout his body.
He opens his eyes and casts about for something to occupy his hands before he completely embarrasses himself, and sees his coffee. He grabs the mug and buries his face inside it for a moment and drinks down the rest of it, now lukewarm, bordering on cool. After a minute he puts the mug down. “Sorry, Cas.” He clears his throat again. “Just. Just come closer.”
Cas slides along the edge of the bed until he’s perpendicular to Dean’s hips, and he’s close enough to touch. Dean’s scared and excited and nervous all at once, but he forges ahead anyway, because he’s got to explain his laughing fit, and this is the only way he knows how. He runs his palm up Cas’s arm, rucking up the sleeve and letting his fingers trail behind to get a touch of skin. Cas looks down at Dean’s hand, his mouth slightly parted, and he watches Dean’s hand intently. Dean strokes Cas’s forearm lightly, enjoying the feel of the muscles jumping beneath.
“I wasn’t laughing at you, Cas,” Dean says softly. He leans in slightly, but not enough to close the distance between the two of them, hoping that Cas will pick up on the signal. Cas does, and he shifts so his torso is facing Dean straight on, and they’re close enough that Dean can feel the hot moist air of Cas’s exhales on his cheek.
“Dean,” Cas breathes, “if you weren’t laughing, then...” Dean doesn’t let Cas finish the question. Instead, he presses his lips to Cas’s. He can feel when Cas’s eyes flutter closed, the tips of Cas’s eyelashes brushing his cheeks.
The kiss is soft and tender, tentative even, and Dean settles into it, settles into the feel of Cas’s lips against his own, the scrape of Cas’s ever-present five o’clock shadow against his cheek, and it feels right.
Dean’s about to pull away, he’s prepared to end the kiss and have the talk, whatever that might entail, when Cas palms the back of his neck and pulls him in closer. Dean makes a startled noise in the back of his throat, as Cas deepens the kiss and starts licking at Dean’s lip, fucking hell.
As with everything, Cas’s focus on kissing Dean is total. He runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, cradling Dean’s head, turning it in the direction he wants Dean to move. He licks into Dean’s mouth and teases Dean’s tongue with his own. Cas shifts so he’s on his knees, and he straddles Dean’s hips, breaking away from the kiss only enough to be sure not to jar Dean’s injured ankle.
Cas settles into Dean’s lap and resumes his assault on Dean’s mouth with his own. After a moment, Dean realizes that he’s making soft moaning noises in the back of his throat that Cas swallows up. They kiss for what seems like hours, days, maybe perhaps even years, and Dean wants to stay like this forever, in Cas’s arms, in Cas’s care. Cas has started rocking his hips back and forth in a hypnotically slow, rhythmic motion, like he’s stuck in molasses, and it’s both exactly the pressure Dean needs and not nearly enough.
Finally, they break apart, and Cas leans his forehead on Dean’s. They’re both breathing heavily, and Cas’s hands are cupping Dean’s face again, as if Dean is something precious, something to be cherished. Cas’s eyes are closed, and he’s just resting there on Dean’s forehead. Dean’s hands settle around Cas’s hips.
“Dean,” Cas says after a moment. “Why were you laughing earlier?” The words are soft, as if Cas is afraid to shatter the quiet moment.
Dean closes his eyes as well and just focuses on the weight of Cas in his lap, the warmth of his palms on his cheeks and the hot moisture of Cas’s breath on his lips. He knows that if he were to lick his lips, he could reach out and touch Cas’s mouth with his tongue. He’s tempted.
“I thought you were going to say something else,” Dean says eventually.
Dean can feel Cas’s frown. “What else would I say?”
Keeping his eyes closed, Dean shrugs. “I don’t know, Cas. I just thought... You took so long to answer, I thought you were trying to think of a way to let me down easy.”
“Dean, look at me.”
Dean shakes his head minutely, and doesn’t open his eyes.
“Dean.” Cas’s tone is a warning one, and Dean shivers a little. Cas may be fallen, but he is still extremely strong, and Dean knows the damage Cas can do given half a mind to do so. He opens his eyes. Cas pulls away slightly so their eyes don’t cross as they look at each other. Cas’s face is open and there’s a small smile playing about the corners of his mouth, and Dean has the urge to kiss him again and again.
“Dean, being human is new for me. But being here with you, that’s not new. That’s the only thing about this that feels right. I can’t help. I can’t hunt, I can’t heal you, I can’t do anything that I used to do.”
"Cas, I told you," Dean begins, but Cas silences him with a quick kiss.
"I like that I can do that," Cas says with a smile.
"Kiss you to get you to shut up."
"You planning on doing that a lot?" Dean asks, and he knows they're straying from the topic at hand, but he's also enjoying the flirting. He's started rubbing his thumbs in small circles on Cas's hips, and Cas is trailing his fingers lightly up and down the side of Dean's neck. It's as if they can't stop touching each other, and Dean's pretty sure he doesn't want to.
"Maybe," Cas says, and now he's smirking down at Dean, and his dick gives an interested twitch at that. Cas shakes his head slightly though, as if he's trying to remind himself that he's supposed to be focusing on something. "Dean, I don't know what I'm feeling, what all these feelings mean. I feel them so much more now that I'm human. All I know is that when I'm at your side..." Cas shrugs his left shoulder, a motion so human that it jars Dean. He's so used to seeing Cas the angel, that when he does things that are human, like wearing jeans and shrugging his shoulders, Dean mourns a little for what Cas lost.
"Yeah Cas, me too," Dean whispers. Cas leans down and kisses Dean again. Dean shifts his legs a bit and yelps as he bonks his ankle with his other foot.
Cas kneels and casts a stern eye at Dean's ankle. "Perhaps I should go."
Dean hardens his grip on Cas's hips. "Nope. Just, maybe sit next to me, instead of on top of me? My leg was falling asleep."
Cas clambers over Dean, carefully this time, until they’re seated next to each other on the bed. Cas clasps Dean’s hand in his own and squeezes gently. He’s smiling a little bit, like he can’t control it, and when Dean sees Cas’s smile out of the corner of his eye, he can’t help but smile himself.
“We look like a couple of idiots, Cas,” Dean says after a few moments of this.
Cas turns and says, very seriously, “I don’t care what we look like, Dean.” He leans forward to capture Dean’s lips with his own, and Dean smiles into the kiss.
Five Days Later
“Hey Cas, guess what?” Dean calls from his room.
Cas is sitting in the library, his feet propped up on the table, reading a book. He puts the book down on the table. “What, Dean?”
“My ankle is all better. You know what that means?”
Cas is up and out of his chair before Dean’s even finished his question. He stalks down the hallway into Dean’s room and presses him up against the wall, kissing him ferociously. Dean starts to laugh and reaches out a hand to swing the door shut.
Cas scrabbles at Dean’s belt and the buttons on his jeans. After a few fruitless attempts, he growls. “You’re not allowed to wear button fly jeans anymore, Dean.”
Dean undoes his jeans and steps out of them while Cas pulls at his shirt, yanking it up over Dean’s head and tossing it onto the floor. Dean’s standing in his boxer briefs while Cas is still fully clothed, wearing an old pair of Dean’s jeans and one of his AC/DC t-shirts. They crash together, practically, mouths working against each other hungrily. They’ve had days of kissing, touching, but not much more, and they’ve been driving themselves practically into a frenzy.
Dean is vaguely aware that Cas is repeating his name over and over again as he mouths at Dean’s collarbone, and Dean rucks up Cas’s t-shirt to get at the warm flesh beneath. He drags his fingers down the muscles of Cas’s back, feeling the way they jump under the pads of his fingers. He slides one hand beneath the waistband of Cas’s jeans to palm his ass, and Cas groans loudly into Dean’s neck. He kneels slightly and picks Dean up and moves backward toward the bed, dropping Dean on it a little unceremoniously.
Cas stands over Dean and slowly undoes the fly of his jeans. Dean licks his lips slowly, watching as skin appears slowly, bit by bit. Cas pulls down both his boxers and his jeans at the same time, and Dean whimpers at the sight. Cas’s cock is hardening practically before Dean’s eyes, thick and beautiful. Cas shucks his t-shirt and kneels down between Dean’s legs, which are spread wide. He lowers his mouth over Dean’s cock, and hollows out his cheeks. The feeling is amazing, and Dean’s eyes roll back in his head. He’s not sure where Cas learned any of this, holy shit.
Cas runs his hands up Dean’s belly, slowly caressing the smooth skin there as he licks up and down Dean’s shaft. He lowers his hands until they circle around the base of Dean’s cock, squeezing oh-so-lightly, and then he pushes upward again. Dean runs his own hands through Cas’s hair, feeling the soft thick strands against the sensitive webs of his fingers. He’s muttering a stream of nonsense, can’t control what’s spilling forth from his mouth, but Cas’s mouth feels so good, so hot, wet and tight.
Cas pulls off with a filthy popping sound, his lips puffy. Dean’s dick is spit slick and painfully hard now, but before he can register a complaint about the loss, Cas lowers his head again, this time nuzzling under Dean’s dick and sucking on Dean’s balls. He pulls them into his mouth, holding Dean’s abdomen down with one hand and reaching up with the other. He holds his fingers out in front of Dean’s mouth.
“Open,” Cas says, his voice deep and rough at the edges. Dean obliges, taking Cas’s fingers in his mouth and sucking on them in concert with Cas’s sucking down below. He’s trapped beneath Cas’s strong arms, and he can’t do anything except for writhe as each new sensation registers. Cas pulls his fingers from Dean’s mouth and circles against Dean’s entrance slowly at first, and then a little faster, pushing the tip of his finger in, then a little bit more, then even more.
Dean’s mumbling a litany of curses and Cas’s name, not certain which sensation to respond to until he realizes that Cas has not one, but two fingers inside him, curling inward. Cas strokes with his finger and Dean jerks as if electrified when Cas finds that spot. Cas chuckles, a satisfied sound, like he’s found the answer to all his questions, the fucker, and then he swallows Dean down to the root. It’s overwhelming, these sensations, and he knows that he could come just like this, it’s imminent, but it’s not quite what he wants.
“Cas,” He gasps, holding back desperately. “Cas,” He reaches down and grabs Cas’s head between his heads and tries to pull him up. Cas grumbles, but goes willingly enough, assaulting Dean’s mouth with his own. Dean rolls his hips upward and grabs Cas’s hips, trying to position them so they can rock together, but Cas’s hand is in the way. “Cas, you gotta... just...” Cas looks between them and smirks. He slowly removes his hand from inside Dean, drawing his fingers out, drawing out the sensations as long as he can, and Dean nearly comes on the spot, but he thinks about baseball stats and he thinks about Sammy’s socks, and woah, there, that helped an awful lot.
Dean is incapable of saying anything other than Cas’s name, and it falls from his lips like a prayer, a mantra, like fucking worship, and he can’t think of any place he’d rather be right now than under his angel, skin to skin, stubble scraping lightly against his abdomen as Cas kisses him lightly. Dean reaches down between them and begins to jack them together, slowly at first, and then faster, with the patented Winchester twist at the top. Cas presses his forehead to Dean’s and cups the back of Dean’s head with one hand, while the other joins Dean’s hand on their cocks. They move together, soft gasps forcing their way out of Cas with each new sensation. He’s stuttering Dean’s name like he can’t remember how to create the whole syllable, and then Dean’s coming, spilling in great hot spurts over his hand onto his belly. Cas follows a moment later with a low, long moan that Dean is certain can be heard down the hall.
They stay like that, panting, eyes closed, for a few minutes, and then Cas kisses Dean. First on his forehead, then his cheeks, and then he finally settles in on Dean’s mouth. It’s slow, languid and sweet. Cas sits back on his heels and grins down at Dean, his hair flying every which way, his mouth puffy and red, sweat beading on his brow.
Dean huffs out a laugh. “You look good like that, Cas.” He turns his head to the side, looking for something to clean them up with, but Cas is faster, grabbing his t-shirt from the edge of the bed where he’d thrown it earlier. He gently wipes off his hands, then Dean’s, and then Dean’s stomach, which twitches slightly under the treatment. Cas balls up the shirt and tosses it toward the laundry basket, where it catches on the lid, hanging a little bit over the side. Cas swings around so he’s lying next to Dean, and he rests his head on Dean’s chest, with his ear right over Dean’s heart. Dean circles his arms around Cas and kisses the top of Cas’s head.
“Next time, we’re going to slow down,” Dean says sleepily.
“Mhm. Give me a few hours,” Cas says, kissing Dean’s chest.