Chapter Text
Dean had just reached the dinner scene at Rosings Park when Anna knocked on the door and called out, 'Permission to enter?'
'Permission –' he began, then faltered, caught off guard by Cas's entrance, '– granted.'
He swallowed hard, aware that he was staring and not giving a damn, because Cas looked – Cas looked –
'Told you so,' said Anna smugly, shutting the door behind them.
Cas ignored her, smiling at Dean. 'Hey,' he said.
'Hey yourself,' he managed, and as Cas leaned in for a quick kiss, Dean dropped the book and pulled him down for something altogether more passionate. Cas gasped, his weight balanced half on the mattress, half off, and returned the kiss with enthusiasm. Dean ran his fingers through Cas's damp hair, and when his lover finally broke away, visibly flushed, it was some moments before Dean could do anything but stare at him, completely overawed. He'd always thought Cas was gorgeous, but now, he seemed almost magnetic. It wasn't just that he was dressed in a way that made Dean want desperately to undress him, possibly with his teeth – though goddamn, did it help; the Henley emphasised his arms and shoulders, bringing out their muscular lines, while the the jeans hugged his hips and ass in all the right ways – but something deeper, as though he'd turned on a long-dormant light within himself.
'You're glowing,' Dean said wonderingly, running a thumb over Cas's lips.
His lover blushed, head tilted onside, and smiled like the sun coming out.
'Yes,' said Cas. 'I suppose I am.'
Dean was speechless. This was Cas as he deserved to be – relaxed and happy, not tense and guilt-ridden – and the difference was so profound, it was like looking at a whole new person.
'You want me to wait outside?' asked Anna. 'If you like, I can put a sock on the door handle, let the nurses know to give you some privacy.'
Dean was lost in Cas's eyes. 'God,' he breathed, 'please do.'
Cas took his hand and gently bit the heel of his palm. 'Whatever you want,' he said, slyly.
'No .' Anna glared at them each in turn. 'That was sarcasm, all right? No hospital sex, you guys! I'm right here, and I brought dinner, so you can just restrain yourselves until I'm gone, OK?' And to emphasise her point, she thumped a Well Bread carry-bag down on the table.
Dean's stomach betrayed him by rumbling, provoking a delighted chuckle from Cas.
'Dinner it is, then,' he sighed, and for the next ten minutes, they sat and ate and chatted like they were back in Cas's kitchen, just that well, and just that easily. Anna had even brought pie, for which kindness Dean heaped praise on her, but as tasty as it was – which was very – he was nonetheless distracted by the sight of Cas's tongue darting out to lick the purple juice from lips already stained dark. In point of fact, he almost choked on his own slice, and had to take a lengthy sip of water to recover. Not for the first time that day, his imagination had started to get the better of him, and even with Anna playing the part of chaperone, it was increasingly difficult not to think of everything he wanted to do with Cas.
When the food was finally gone, Anna started to tidy up, but Cas waved her to a stop, collecting the rubbish and heading out to dispose of it. For whatever reason, there wasn't a bin in the room, and so far, the nearest one they'd found was two hallways over.
Cas's departure afforded Dean a momentarily captivating view, and when his lover slipped out of sight, he actually ached a little.
Into the silence, Anna said, 'He looks good in your car, too. Here.' She pulled out her phone and brought up a photo of Cas in the Impala, which was, as far as Dean was concerned, pornography. The late afternoon light had caught him at just the right angle, threading his dark hair with gold; he was smiling slightly, one arm braced on the window as he steered with the other, fingers curved possessively over the wheel.
If Dean hadn't been aroused already, just that shot would've done it. 'Holy god.' He looked at Anna, desperate for confirmation. 'It's not just me, right? I'm not going crazy?'
She made a face. 'Believe me, I'm right there with you. In a purely aesthetic capacity, of course.'
'There is no way,' said Dean, his insecurities flaring up like arthritis, 'that I deserve someone this perfect.'
Anna made a disgusted noise and scrolled ahead to a different photo. 'I was wondering when you were going to get stupid. It's why I took this one. Here.'
It was a picture of him and Cas. She must have taken it that first night in hospital, when they'd shared a bed – the night they'd first said they loved each other. Dean's arms were bandaged and Cas's face bruised, but none of that mattered: they were cradling each other, foreheads touching, limbs entwined, and even though they were fast asleep, they were both half-smiling, utterly at peace.
'Oh,' said Dean. His throat tightened. 'Oh.'
'Yes, oh,' said Anna. 'And don't you forget it. In fact, I'm sending you both of these, just to be on the safe side.'
'Thanks,' croaked Dean. He rubbed his eyes, struggling not to cry over a damn photo, and so was caught completely off-guard when Anna suddenly blurted, 'Is Cas rich?'
'What?' Dean laughed, startled. 'He runs a secondhand bookshop, Anna. I'm thinking not.'
'Yeah, but – he hasn't said anything to you? About how much he makes, that sort of thing?'
'No.' He looked at her strangely. 'Why would you even ask that?'
Anna fidgeted. 'It's just, well, Charlie was looking at his accounts, you know, to make sure she was writing all the sales down properly, but it doesn't look like he actually makes enough profit to get by, and I was worried I'd pressured him into hiring on someone he couldn't afford, but if he's making money some other way, then it doesn't matter so much.'
Carefully, Dean said, 'Whatever Cas's finances, Charlie's going to get paid. I'll make sure of it.'
Anna's cheeks flamed red. 'I didn't mean –'
'Honestly, it's fine.' Dean smiled. 'You guys have really looked out for us – you especially, Anna, don't think I don't know it. We're not going to leave you out in the cold, or Charlie, for that matter. So don't worry, OK?'
Anna opened her mouth to reply, but was forestalled by Cas's return – as, indeed, was Dean, who suddenly felt like his heart was too big for his chest. God, even Cas's walk had changed, his cramped, self-conscious gait replaced by an easy stride that flowed from hip to shoulder, drawing the eye to all his best features. It made him look taller, too; or rather, he finally looked his real height, being straight-backed rather than hunched, as though a literal weight had lifted from his shoulders. He let his gaze roam over Cas, appreciating every visible inch of him, and rather than ducking his head, Cas lifted his chin and said, coyly, 'See something you like, or just browsing?'
Dean blushed like a virgin and said, 'Yes.'
Anna snorted. 'And that, right there, would be my cue to leave.' She stood up, stretching, and Dean jolted out of his Cas-induced stupor for long enough to ask, a little sheepishly, 'Do you need money for a cab? My shout.'
'I wouldn't say no,' she admitted, but before Dean could grab his wallet from the bedside table, Cas had already pulled out his own, withdrawing a handful of notes and passing them to Anna.
Reflexively, Anna took the money, then did a double-take, staring at Cas. 'I can't take this much.'
Cas blinked. 'Why not? You've been shuttling back and forth all week on our behalf, not to mention shelling out for food – we should've been paying right from the start.'
'Yeah, but –' she stared at the notes again, '– this is like, three hundred bucks. I've spent less than half that much, and that's being generous.'
'Anna.' Cas put his hands on her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 'We'd both be lost without you, and you know it. So, please. Just take the money. I insist.'
Blushing furiously, Anna mumbled, 'All right, then,' and as she pulled out her purse, Cas looked at Dean over her head and winked.
Dean just stared at him, open-mouthed. Did Cas just consciously use his sex appeal to get his own way with Anna? And it worked ? He was too impressed to be jealous; and then he thought, helplessly, If Anna's not immune, what happens when he uses that trick on me?
The possibilities were intoxicating. Dean's breath caught in his throat. Please, god, let him use it on me.
He was barely aware of saying goodbye to Anna, but he sure as hell noticed when the door clicked shut behind her, because then it was just him and Cas, and it was like a dam had broken: the arousal he'd been barely suppressing rushed back in full, leaving him rock-hard and gasping. Cas was on the bed in seconds, knees on either side of Dean's thighs, straddling him. Gripping the bed's raised back with his left hand, Cas splayed his right along Dean's throat and tilted his face up, kissing him passionately. Dean whimpered into his mouth, gripping Cas's hips and wishing desperately that he could grind against him without making his injuries worse, because even this much distance between them was a torment.
Cas broke the kiss, his free hand trailing down Dean's throat to his collarbone and back again, their foreheads pressed together.
'I don't want to hurt you,' Cas whispered. His voice was hoarse with lust, and as he spoke, he was peppering Dean with teasing kisses, temple and cheek and jaw. 'I just want you.'
Dean moaned, stretching up to bite and suck at Cas's neck. Putting his mouth to Cas's ear, he panted, 'Fuck me. Please god, Cas, I –' He broke off, shuddering pleasantly as Cas reached under the blankets, stroking him through the hospital gown. 'Fuck. Please, please, please, I can't – ahh!'
That was pain, not pleasure; Cas stopped instantly. 'Are you all right?'
'Yeah.' Dean bit his lip. 'Son of a bitch, I can't – if I push up, it pulls, and oh, fuck –' He lay back, aching in every way imaginable. 'God, this is unbearable.'
Cas rocked back on his heels. 'What if you lie flat? Would that help?'
'Yeah, but there's no point. I can't, uh –' he gestured helplessly, '– thrust.'
'So don't thrust,' Cas murmured, kissing the side of his mouth. 'Just let me take care of you.'
'OK.' Breathing raggedly, Dean watched as Cas slid off the bed and lowered the mattress-back, until he was fully horizontal. The bed was still higher than normal, though, and after a moment's consideration, Cas turned the nearest chair sideways, pushed it up to the edge, and knelt on it, leaning over him
Dean gulped. 'What, uh, what are you – oh. Oh, ' he said, as Cas lowered the blankets and lifted his gown. The door's unlocked , he thought wildly, we're in a hospital and the door's unlocked and anyone could just – 'Oh, fuck!'
Cas licked up his shaft, the fingers of one hand gently stroking the inside of his thigh. He paused, looking wickedly up at Dean, and murmured, 'Remember, you have to keep still. Can you do that, love?'
Dean gripped the blankets. 'God, I hope so.'
'Me, too,' said Cas, and wrapped his lips around him.
It was agony and ecstasy, a bondage game without ropes. Dean had to lie still – literally, physically had to – when all he wanted to do was arch his back and buck his hips and shove his fingers through Cas's hair, completely undone by the feel of his lover's warm mouth. He could barely tense his stomach, which should have made it impossible, but Cas went so slowly, sucking and licking and stroking with such exquisite care, that Dean was rendered liquid from the waist down. He knew he was moaning, begging in a breathless, profane litany – knew, too, that anyone within earshot of the room could undoubtedly hear him – but didn't care; and somehow, that only aroused him more, the same way it had that day in the Impala, when Cas had practically mounted him in front of the whole street. He wasn't that he liked exhibiting himself – or at least, he didn't think it was – but when he was with Cas, the rest of the world didn't matter.
He tipped his head back, panting and sweating. Pleasure was building in him in waves; his calf muscles were spasming, he was trying so hard to keep still, and Cas just kept going, fingers teasing as he took Dean deep in his throat, and suddenly he was coming, almost sobbing with relief as Cas brought him over the edge.
'Oh god. Oh god.' He felt utterly wrecked, yet never more alive. Trembling, he grabbed Cas's arm and tugged him forwards, pulling him onto the bed and up against his unshot side. And then they were kissing; he could taste himself on his lover's tongue, and as he undid Cas's jeans and pulled him free, stroking urgently, Cas shuddered and gasped and came over his hip. They fell back, breathing heavily. Reaching out, Dean grabbed some tissues from the bedside and cleaned himself up, which left him with just enough energy left to tug the blankets over them both.
Cas kissed his ear, trailing his touch across Dean's wrist. 'God, I love you.'
'I love you, too.' He turned, looking into Cas's eyes, trembling as he twined their fingers together. 'You're just... I don't even have words. I wish I did, I wish I knew how to say it, how it make it make sense outside my head, but if this is what it really feels like to want something, then I've never wanted anything else, or anyone else, but you. You're the horizon, Cas. You're all can I see.'
'Whatever I am,' Cas whispered, 'I'm yours.'
Dean leaned in and kissed him, gasping a little as his stitches stretched, but it was worth it, because Cas was worth it.
Cas was worth everything.
*
Stretching, Cas glanced down and spied Dean's book, carelessly spraddle-paged where his lover had dropped it. Reaching down to rescue it, he was overwhelmed to see it was Pride and Prejudice. 'You're reading this?'
'I promised I would.'
Cas swallowed, almost afraid to ask. 'Are you enjoying it?'
'Yeah, actually, I am.' Dean sounded surprised. 'I mean, I didn't think I would, but it's great. Caroline Bingley's such a bitch, and Lady Catherine? Oh, man. Lizzie is going to own her.'
'Where are you up to?' Cas asked.
'Dinner at Rosings.' Dean thumbed through the paperback for the right page, and then said, almost shyly, 'You, uh... you want to read it with me?'
By way of answer, Cas kissed him soundly, and for the next twenty minutes, they did just that, Cas holding the book while Dean turned the pages, cuddled together in a silence broken only by quiet laughter. Cas was the faster reader, but he didn't mind a bit: whenever he finished a page, he stole a secret glance at Dean, his heart full to overflowing. And then, at no provocation Cas could see, Dean suddenly dropped his side of the book and said, 'Shit! I forget your parcel!'
'My what?'
'Your parcel,' Dean said. 'It's by the bed, in the drawer. Agent Bao was here earlier; she dropped it off, and I meant to give it to you straight away, but then you walked in and I just got.... distracted.' More quietly, he said, 'She said it's from your sister. From Clarity.'
Cas's hand tensed on the brown-wrapped package. Slowly, he sat up, holding it like he was scared it would explode. 'I don't think I can open it.'
Dean, who was still lying down, looked up him with eyes that were no less green than spring, and asked, 'Do you want me to do it?'
Cas took a deep breath. 'No,' he said, letting it out. 'It's all right. I just... I just need a moment, is all.'
'Hey, it's not like I'm going anywhere.'
Absurdly, Cas smiled. 'You want me to put the bed up again?'
'Please.'
He grabbed the remote, sliding down a little as the mattress rose, until they were both upright. Without quite meaning to, Cas leaned over and rested his head on Dean's shoulder. Then, before he could lose his nerve, he ripped the parcel open.
A book fell out. Trembling, Cas picked it up, unable to believe what he was seeing.
'Oh my god,' he whispered. It wasn't possible. It was a mistake. And yet it was right there in front of him, and he couldn't understand how.
'Cas?' Dean asked, concerned. 'What is it?'
'I thought he burned it.' Cas was shaking, his vision blurred. 'All these years, I thought he burned it.'
It was his copy of The Killing Choice, the one John Aveline had given him. A novel which, once upon a time, had been his most treasured possession, and which he'd been certain Brother Tiberius had burned, the same as all his other books. But here it was, just as he remembered it: the naff, psychedelic cover; the yellowing pages, marked by a single splash of red – his blood – in the bottom right corner; and – he opened it, hardly daring to believe – a whole page of his teenage writings, scrawled on the inside front cover.
'This is yours?' Dean asked, gently.
Cas nodded, tears spilling down his cheeks. 'My friend at the bookshop in Joseph, John Aveline, gave it to me. It was – it is – important. But I thought Tiberius burned it years ago.' He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist. 'I didn't have a journal to write in, so I used my books, and because this one was special to me, I saved it for special things.' He laughed. 'I must have hidden it. If it never burned, I must have hidden it somewhere and forgotten – I hid books everywhere, I couldn't just leave them out – and somehow, Clarity found it.'
He sat there, stunned, unable to wrap his mind around the implications. Not only had Clarity found his book, but she'd kept it, too – not just at the time, but for years afterwards, even bringing it out of the compound – and why would she do that, if she hadn't read it? And if she'd read the book, it stood to reason that she'd read his pages of additions, too. No, that wasn't right: his page of additions, singular. He'd only ever used the front cover of The Killing Choice, because once it was full, he hadn't wanted to risk using up the other side for anything less than his very best thoughts. And then it had burned – or he'd thought it did – and none of it had mattered.
But when, out of sheer habit, he flipped over to the back cover, he found it covered in writing – and not just the cover, but the three blank pages before it, too, the letters small and spiky and cramped and so unlike his own that even Dean, who'd hardly studied his penmanship, knew instantly what it meant.
'That's hers, isn't it?' he said, softly. 'She copied you.'
Cas nodded, unable to speak. She sent me her diary. He squeezed his eyes shut, steeling himself, and when he opened them again, his gaze was drawn to four lines written in capitals in the cover's middle. Each stroke was bold and thick, which should have made it easier to read, except that Clarity had traced her words over so many times, the ink had pooled and bled, obscuring the text. Cas had to squint to make it out, but once he did, his heart stopped.
BEYOND THE WALL
BENEATH THE SKY
MY BROTHER LIVES
AND SO WILL I .
An ugly noise made its way up his throat, neither tears nor grief, but something too big for a single word, the way love was; and then Dean was holding him, pulling him close, which was all that kept him from breaking apart. Cas sobbed against his shoulder, tears and laughter mingling: the world was cruel and strange and full of ugly miracles, the most fickle of which was forgiveness, and the oldest of which was hope.
'It's OK, baby,' Dean was saying, 'it's OK, I've got you, I've got you,' and somehow, the words were like oxygen; Cas breathed them in, and kissed Dean's neck, and again, and again, inching his mouth upwards as the tears stopped, losing himself in touch, because he was alive, he was alive, and in that moment, nothing else mattered but proving it to both of them.
'Cas?' Dean pulled back slightly, cupping his cheek, eyes wide with concern. 'Cas, baby? Are you here?'
'I'm here,' Cas whispered, and kissed him fiercely, sucking on Dean's bottom lip until he groaned and grabbed him. They were like teenagers, touching and teasing and, in Dean's case, begging; and so, appropriately enough, they were caught like teenagers, springing apart at a stern 'Ahem!' from the doorway.
There stood a nurse, her broad arms crossed and a look on her face that was somewhere between sincere exasperation and poorly-suppressed mirth. 'Gentlemen!' she said. 'While I appreciate the holistic role of TLC in medicine as much as the next professional, this is neither your high school prom nor a love hotel. There have been complaints .' The nurse raised a pointed eyebrow at Cas, who grinned back without the slightest trace of shame, and then turned her glare on Dean, who blushed. 'May I suggest, Mr Winchester, that if you're feeling well enough to make such enthusiastic prayers to the lord our god, you're well enough to recuperate at home?'
Dean stared at her. 'I am?'
'He was shot!' said Cas, outraged against his own inclinations, which involved taking Dean home more or less instantly.
'Which is why I'm still prescribing bed rest, a schedule of follow-up visits, a regimen of our very finest painkillers and a pamphlet on how to change your own bandages,' the nurse replied, deadpan. To Dean, she added, 'This isn't a get out of jail free card. You need rest, and plenty of it. But you're out of the danger zone. You're healing well. You can walk to the bathroom and back again. So, how's about we make a deal: you make yourself decent, I give you a once-over, and provided you're up to standard, we'll have you out of here inside of an hour. If, however, I find you've ripped your stitches – or rather, that he's ripped them –' she looked daggers at Cas, '– then we have a serious conversation about hospital etiquette, and I move you to a public ward. Do we have an understanding?'
'Yes ma'am!' said Dean. The tips of his ears were turning pink.
The nurse smiled. 'Attaboy! Now, I'm going to go stand outside that door and count to thirty while you –' she pointed at Cas, '– get your pants done up and you –' she swung back to Dean, '– preserve what's left of your modesty. And then I'm coming back in to do my job, ready or not.'
And with that, she spun on her heel and left.
The lovers looked at each other; Dean cracked a smile, but it was Cas who laughed.
'Oh, god, what a day.' He hopped out of bed and, as instructed, did up his jeans, which by some miracle were still unstained. 'Please tell me your stitches are fine. I want you home.'
'Me, too,' said Dean, straightening his gown as he gingerly swung his legs over the bed. 'Though I'm not sure how I'll manage the stairs.'
Cas kissed his nose and grinned. 'Don't worry, love. I'll carry you over the threshold.'
Dean sucked in breath at the inference, and suddenly Cas felt dizzy for a whole new reason. Did I really just make a joke about that? Apparently, he had, and as neither one of them seemed to know what to make of it, he shrugged and smiled as if to say, No harm done!, and flattened himself against the wall just as the nurse returned.
Throughout Dean's examination, he was silent, half-afraid that, if he spoke, he'd somehow jinx the results. But once the nurse finally pronounced him well enough to leave, and had run through all the promised litanies of routines, painkillers and rest, a sort of madness came over Cas. He kept it in check while Dean changed into his own clothes, distracting himself by packing all their things – his book included – into a backpack which, being Anna's, was slightly too small for his frame. He fidgeted with it the whole time Dean was dealing with hospital paperwork, then told himself sternly to keep calm. But when a new nurse arrived with a wheelchair, Cas couldn't contain himself. As his lover took a wobbly step towards the chair, Cas intercepted him, looping Dean's arms around his neck and scooping him into his arms. The second nurse looked scandalised, but the first one laughed – a rolling, belly-deep sound – and said, 'Well, that's one way to do it. Just don't drop him!'
'Never,' said Cas, and carried him like that all the way to the car.