Chapter Text
It was, by an order of magnitude, the best night of Dean's life.
He lost count of how many times he and Cas made love somewhere after the third, when they availed themselves of the shower and, predictably, came out dirtier than when they'd gone in. Afterwards, they tried to dry off, and he wound up first blowing, then fucking Cas against the bathroom wall, his moans echoing against the tiles. They were both inexhaustible, pent up from weeks of waiting – and, Dean realised, from the fact that they'd never had sex before when one or both of them wasn't injured. Every time he thought they were finished, something would set them off again, the simplest touch transmuted into fireworks. It wasn't until nearly 2am that they realised they were starving and ordered room service, but the food took long enough to arrive that, by the time the waiter knocked on the door, Dean was spread-eagled beneath Cas, hands gripping the blankets and damn near blacking out from pleasure as he thrust his hips up and back. It was Cas, ragged and gasping, who called out to just leave the tray, his voice half-muffled against Dean's shoulder, and it ought to have been embarrassing, except that Cas chose that moment to alter his rhythm, and any self-consciousness Dean had vanished as he groaned and shuddered to (yet another) climax.
When, minutes later, Cas wrapped a towel around his hips and went to get the food – they'd ordered burgers, which were miraculously still warm – Dean came back to himself for long enough to sit up and realise what the place looked like; hell, what they looked like. Because as messy as the room was, strewn with the contents of Cas's bag, sticky sheets and wet towels, it was nothing compared to the marks they'd made on each other. Both of them were bruised, scratched and so thoroughly lovebitten, it was like they'd caught a peculiar type of plague. God, there were purpling hickies on Cas's lower back he didn't remember making at all, any more than he recalled Cas biting his hip hard enough for individual teeth to leave their indents, and yet it had clearly happened.
'Holy fuck,' Dean breathed. He sat up, propped against the pillows, not quite able to believe it.
'What?' said Cas, bringing the tray over – and then his eyes widened, too. 'Oh. Oh .' He shoved the food aside at the end of the bed, hands running concernedly over Dean's arms. 'Jesus, you're bleeding.'
'I am?' He ran a wondering hand over Cas's collarbone. 'Shit. You are, too.'
'I – what? Where? I can't see it.'
Which lead to them stumbling into the bathroom, using the big double-mirrors to survey the extent of the damage. Cas's nails had raked Dean's arms, hips and back, while Dean, in turn, had scratched Cas's chest and shoulders.
‘Fuck,’ Dean said again.
Cas was blushing furiously. ‘I, ah, may have gotten carried away.’
‘If you did, so did I.’ He stepped close, kissing the edge of his jaw, until Cas was trembling against him. ‘Don’t you dare feel guilty about this. Don’t you dare.’
‘I don’t,’ said Cas, gentle fingers retracing the marks he’d made in passion. ‘I've just never... lovebites, sure, but this is more than I've ever –'
'Me, too.'
'And it's... it's OK?' Cas's tone was urgent. 'You asked me once not to hurt you, and I don't know if this qualifies.'
'It doesn't,' Dean said, stroking Cas's cheek. 'You've done nothing I didn't want, or that I haven't done to you, either.' He kissed him, smiling. 'We're good. Now come eat dinner.'
The burgers were surprisingly tasty, though not a patch on proper roadhouse fare. They washed them down with a tiny bottle of minibar booze apiece, and then lay back on the cleanest patch of linen, Dean curled up in Cas’s arms, head pillowed on his chest.
‘We could stay an extra day,’ he murmured. ‘Ring Sam, tell him we’re running late, that the car got a flat or something. He’d understand.’
Cas shifted slightly, looking down at him. ‘You really want to do that?’
Dean traced a finger along Cas’s ribs, delighting in the shiver this produced. ‘Honestly, I don’t think I ever want to leave this room again. Or this bed, even.’
‘I don’t know. That could get pretty messy.’
‘Hasn’t it already?’
‘Fair point.’ Cas made a show of considering. ‘Well, I don’t think I could afford to buy the whole hotel, but the room is definitely within budget. We’d have quite the commute to Monument, though.’
Dean nuzzled Cas’s chest, trailing kisses up the marked skin as he rolled on top of him. ‘Move in with me, then.’
Cas chuckled. ‘Sure. Your flat or mine?’
‘Neither.’ He kissed the side of his mouth. ‘Let’s get a new place when we get back. Somewhere just ours, close to the stores, but with a yard. I’ve never had a yard before.’
‘OK.’ Cas propped himself on his elbows. ‘A new place with a yard it is. Any other requests?’
‘Just be with me. That's all I want.'
‘I will be. I am,’ said Cas, his hands stroking sensual patterns up Dean's sides. 'Always.'
And then they were kissing again, a slow, languid passion that steadily built into tense arousal, until Dean was once more reduced to gasping Cas's name like a prayer as his lover laid him down and, with sweet inevitability, brought them both over the edge.
When Dean woke up the next morning, he was sprawled on his stomach, one arm outflung across Cas’s chest. He ached everywhere, but in all the right ways, and he didn’t think he’d ever tire of the novelty of waking up next to Cas; of leaning over, as he did now, and whispering, ‘I love you,’ into his ear, until he stirred and murmured, ‘I love you, too,’ and pulled him down for a morning kiss.
Which, predictably, soon turned into more than that; but even so, and despite their late start, they didn’t stay the extra day. As heavy and sore and sated as he felt, Dean also wanted to keep going, revelling in his returning strength; and besides which, he didn't want to lie to Sam. They traded off the driving again, and made it to Lexington only a few hours after they’d originally planned. They didn't make quite as much of a mess in that hotel – or the one the next night, in Salt Lake City – as they had in Indianapolis, but they still came surprisingly close. Even with their respective staminas returned to something approximating normal levels, they still couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and by the time they finally made it to California and Stanford, the scratches, bites and bruises of the first night, though diminished, had been joined by many others.
As Cas navigated the Impala through a maze of residential streets leading up to Sam and Jess’s place, Dean worried the collar of his shirt, trying to find a way to cover his bites that didn’t actually involve buying a turtleneck. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have cared, but he hadn’t seen Sam in months, and for perhaps the first time in their adult lives, they had a lot to talk about. Showing up covered in hickies, accompanied by a lover who was just as badly marked, didn’t exactly seem like the best way to make a good impression; but as he didn’t have a choice, he'd just have to make the best of it.
‘We’re here, I think,’ said Cas, suddenly.
‘Huh? Where?’
‘There.’ Cas pulled over, pointing across the street. Dean blinked, taking in the sight of a two-storey wooden house newly painted white, its brightly lit windows glowing gold against the evening grey. It looked suburban, safe; even welcoming. And yet, he felt abruptly nervous, his stomach churning as he contemplated seeing his brother. Of necessity, he’d spoken to Sam while organising the trip, but always briefly, never touching on the revelations made in that first, more eventful call: that the father who’d loved and supported one brother had beaten, abused and belittled the other. After a lifetime’s worth of lying, Dean had revealed the truth almost by accident, too tired and hurt – and, just as likely, stoned on pain medication – to keep up the pretence, and even though weeks had passed since then, he somehow didn’t think Sam was going to let it all slide.
Sensing his nervousness, Cas squeezed his hand. ‘You’ll be fine, Dean. I promise.’
Dean gulped. ‘It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s Sam. I dumped a hell of a lot on him, and he might be – well. This could be pretty awkward.’ He gripped the seat. ‘He’s going to be so pissed at me, Cas. He’s right to be pissed at me.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ Cas thumbed a comforting circle in Dean’s palm. ‘He’s allowed to be upset, but you haven’t done anything wrong, either.’
Dean stared at the house, drymouthed. ‘I don’t think I can do this.’
‘You can.’ Cas kissed his hand – palm, wrist, knuckles – then said, ‘But just in case, we’ll use a stoplight system. If you want a change of topic, say green. If you want to leave the room, say yellow. If you want to leave the house all together, say red. Whatever you need, I’ll make an excuse, I’ll feed you a straight line, whatever. But I’m here for you, OK? And anyway, he’s your brother. You’re going to be fine.’
A lump rose in Dean’s throat. ‘Thanks, Cas.’
Cas smiled and kissed him, and for a moment, they melted together. Dean felt his body respond, and groaned as he realised he couldn’t just take Cas straight up to bed, as every part of him wanted to. Pulling back, he said, ‘We’ll have to behave ourselves tonight.’
Cas smiled mischievously. ‘At the table? Not a problem. Afterwards, though –’ he kissed Dean’s neck, lips grazing one of the more prominent lovebites, shivering him, ‘– I’m not making any promises.’
‘Uh,’ said Dean. He’d been going to say, we’re not having sex in my brother’s house, but couldn’t get the sentence out, because goddamn, did he want to have sex with Cas in his brother's house. Or, well, not specifically his brother's house, but all things being equal, if it was the only alternative, he was ready and willing to take it, fraternal etiquette be damned. ‘We’ll see,’ he managed.
‘I live to serve.’ Cas kissed him again, then got out and started grabbing their bags. ‘Come on, then. We can’t just sit out here all night.’
‘Pity,’ Dean muttered, but though he still felt anxious, he made himself follow.
There was a porch at the front of Sam’s house, and as they climbed up the shallow steps, a motion sensor light came on. From inside, Dean could hear the faint sounds of music, and even before he pressed the bell, he could hear footsteps coming towards the door. He sucked in breath, bracing himself, and suddenly, there was Sam. His brother was as lanky, floppy-haired and unflappable as ever, smiling that same, quiet, self-contained smile that could mean any one of a dozen different things, depending on his mood. Dean fought the urge to shuffle his feet and said, ‘Hey, Sammy.’
‘Hey, Dean.’ Sam tilted his head, smile broadening incrementally. ‘What, no hug?’
‘I wasn’t sure you –’ Dean began, but stopped when Sam really did hug him, a brief, friendly squeeze that ended with a pat on the back. Dean reciprocated as best he could – he still had a bag under one arm – but if Sam noticed the awkwardness, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stepped back, scrutinising Cas, who was waiting patiently off to one side. An expression of clear surprise crossed Sam’s face: whatever he’d been expecting his brother’s lover to look like, Castiel Novak clearly wasn’t it, though whether that was a good or a bad thing in his eyes remained to be seen.
‘You’re Cas?’ he asked, holding out a hand.
‘And you’re Sam,’ said Cas, taking it. Grinning, and with a playful boldness Dean adored, he added, ‘I guess I’m not what you pictured.’
Sam had the grace to look abashed. ‘Honestly, I’m not sure what I thought you looked like. This is all pretty new to me, you know? But come in!’ He stepped back, waving them both down the hall. ‘Jess is just getting dinner ready.’
Cas flashed Dean an encouraging look, and somehow, he was able to cross the threshold.
*
If Cas wasn’t what Sam Winchester had been expecting, then neither was Sam as Cas had imagined, either. For one thing, Dean had neglected to mention how stupidly tall his brother was: Sam had to top out at 6’4, maybe even 6’5, though still with Dean’s broad shoulders and narrow hips. With his floppy brown hair, old jeans and plaid shirt rolled to the elbows, he looked like a cross between a lumberjack and a hippy kid, which was an odd enough mix to be arresting in its own right. Throw in a sharp chin, expressive mouth, a delicately upturned nose and eyes the grey-green of desert plants, and his face became downright compelling – not beautiful in the same way Dean's was (or at least, not to Cas), but sharply handsome.
Far more importantly, however, he also read as a mass of contradictions. For all that he seemed friendly, going out of his way to hug Dean, who clearly hadn't been expecting it, there was something reserved about him, too, a compartmentalised subtlety that hinted at a life lived in a series of carefully labelled boxes. Inviting them to stay, Cas suspected, fell outside these parameters, setting him on edge. And like his brother, he was also tense – not overtly so, but for all their differences, Sam and Dean apparently shared enough subconscious mannerisms, like the habit of clenching and fanning their fingers, that Cas could read him clearly. Dean hadn't been wrong, back in the car: this could easily get difficult – and if it did, Cas wouldn't hesitate to intervene.
All this flashed through his thoughts in the time it took them to pass through the hall and into a well-lit kitchen, where a neatly curvaceous blonde woman – Jess – was leaning over the oven. She straightened as they entered, and when she smiled, there was nothing feigned or secretive about it.
'Dean!' she said, and rushed forward to hug him, though unlike Sam, she waited until he'd put his bag down to do so. He hugged her back shyly, and said, 'Hi, Jess. This is Cas.'
Cas smiled at her. 'Thanks for having us.'
'It's a pleasure,' Jess said, and surprised him with a hug. Cas went rigid, worrying she'd touch his back, but relaxed when she only clasped his shoulders, her small hands warm and soft.
'Well,' she said, stepping back, 'the two of you must be exhausted. Dinner's still cooking, but come through to the den, and I'll grab us some drinks while Sam takes your bags upstairs. Is beer OK?'
Dean said it was, and with that, all three men set about obeying. Jess exuded a natural, calm authority, and within moments, she had Cas and Dean settled together on a plush blue sofa, each one holding a beer, while Sam took care of their luggage.
'So, Jess,' said Dean, the telltale burr in his voice betraying his nerves, 'how's school going these days?'
'It's great.' She looked at Cas and added, 'I'm studying psychology. Like parents, like daughter.'
'Oh,' he said, and abruptly, he was nervous, too – not so much because Jess was studying psychology, but because she was clearly good at reading people, and those two things in combination weren't something he'd expected from the evening. Trying to disarm his own fears, he said, as humorously as possible, 'Are you planning to study us, then?'
Jess laughed, but with a thoughtful look in her grey eyes that suggested she'd heard the hidden half of the question. 'Only if you ask nicely,' she said – and then she hesitated, gaze flicking back to Dean. She took a deep breath and said, in a rush, 'But I do have a confession to make. Sam told me about your dad – he sort of had to, the way he was acting after you called – and, well. I'd always thought things were odd between you two – Sam would say things sometimes, about what you were like, how you grew up, and it never seemed to match with what I'd seen myself, when you were still living here. But once you told him about – about all of it, we talked it through, and a lot of things started to make sense, for both of us.' She looked uniquely uncomfortable, apologetic as she said, 'I want you to know, he's trying. He knows you had the worse deal, he really does, but it's still been hard for him, and, well –'
Dean sighed. 'And I'm the only one left to blame.'
Jess winced. 'Something like that, yeah.'
Dean might have replied, but just then, Sam returned, and Jess's entire body-language shifted like she'd flipped a switch: she sat back, smiling easily, and said, 'Hey, sweetie. Your beer's on the counter.'
'Thanks,' said Sam, and touched her shoulder in passing. He headed through to grab it, calling out over his shoulder, 'I'll give you guys the full tour later, but basically, this is it. Home sweet home.'
'It's great,' said Dean, sounding even more unsettled to Cas's ears than he had before. Discreetly, he reached across and twined their fingers together, and was rewarded when Dean gave his hand a hard squeeze. 'You guys renting or mortgaged?'
'Mortgaged,' Sam said, returning to sit beside Jess. 'Apparently, I love debt.'
'Hey,' said Dean, lifting his beer. 'It's the American dream, right?'
Sam laughed. 'I guess it is,' he said, and promptly changed the topic. 'So, Cas. You run a bookstore, is that right?'
'Next door to Dean, yeah. It's how we met.'
'Huh,' said Sam. 'That's odd. As I recall, Dean was never much of a reader.'
Clearly stung, Dean said, 'Well, Sammy, I guess there's a lot you don't know about me, isn't there?'
There was a pointed silence, during which Jess and Cas swapped worried glances, mutual concern for their partners turning them into allies. Sam smiled, wide and sharp. 'Yeah, Dean. And whose fault is that, exactly?'
Cas squeezed Dean's hand, the gesture both a comfort and a tacit reminder of what he'd said in the car. It's OK. I'm here. If you need to go, I'll give you an out. But either Dean didn't realise, or he didn't care; he affected his macho, punchable grin – the same one he used to wear when Cas came in to complain about his music – and said, 'Well, now. That's an interesting question, isn't it? I mean, I could just blame dad, but he's dead, and really, that's not what you want to hear. So let's just get it over with, shall we? Lay it on me. Tell me it's my fault. Tell me –' he leaned forward, tense and suddenly furious, '– exactly when, in the last five years, I should've sat you down and said, Sammy, I know you're sad dad's gone, but he used to beat the shit out of me, he hated every speck of who I was, and you fell for his bullshit so comprehensively you've spent your entire adult life thinking I was a self-sabotaging failure, but now you know the truth, so I guess it's all magically OK! Tell me! Because if there was a right time to have that conversation, a time where it would've been easier on you – or on me, for that matter – I'd really like to hear about it.'
Sam blanched, and for the first time, he let his anger show. 'Just the past five years?' he spat, incredulous. 'How about when dad was still alive, when I could've actually confronted him about it, gotten some real answers? Why not tell me then?'
'Oh, right,' Dean shot back, visibly trembling, 'because that would've made it so much better. It's not like I was terrified of the guy, or anything. It's not the one time I so much as hinted at telling you about what he did, he held my head under the bath until I almost drowned, and told me how easily he could make it look like accident .'
Everyone went still. Cas could feel Dean's pulse in his palm, hammering wildly, and just at that moment, he didn't give a shit that Jess's mouth was hanging open in shock, that Sam looked physically sick; he'd just gotten Dean better, just brought him back to a place where things were looking OK, and he wasn't going to sit there and watch it all go hell over pre-dinner drinks. He slid closer to Dean, dropping his hand in favour of putting a tight arm around his shoulder, and glared daggers at Sam; and when his lover leaned into him, shaky and weak, and whispered, 'Yellow,' Cas pulled Dean to his feet and said, in a tone that brooked no argument, 'We're going outside for a minute.'
'Of course,' Jess stammered, 'anything, take as long as you want –'
Cas ignored her, guiding Dean back down the hall, out the front door and onto the porch, where he pulled him into his arms, hands moving in soothing circles over his back. Dean clutched his shoulders, face buried in Cas's collarbone, and shook for nearly a solid minute.
'I can't do this,' he whispered. 'Cas, I can't, I can't –'
'It's OK, love.' Cas ran a hand through his hair, gently stroking the strands, his scalp. 'You don't have to do anything you don't want to. We can stay out here as long as you need.'
Dean was close to tears. 'I never should have lied to him. When we were kids, sure, but once I was out of home, I could've... but Sammy was still there, I didn't want to do it while he was still living with dad, and then I was overseas, and I saw – oh, god, Cas, it was all so fucked up, and with Lassiter, I just – the whole world was monsters, and I didn't – I didn't want Sam to see things like I did, I didn't want him to know how bad it could be, I just thought, well, shit, at least one of us has a chance of turning out OK, you know?'
'Dean, it's not your fault. Hey. Look at me.' He put a thumb under Dean's chin and lifted his head, then used it to gently wipe his eyes. 'It's not your fault, OK? Just like –' he took a deep breath, '– just like Nevada wasn't mine, then or now.'
Dean shook his head. 'That's different, Cas. What happened to you was, was –'
'– was criminal, Dean, the same as what happened to you. It was child abuse, sustained over years, and it doesn't matter a damn that the person who hurt me wasn't my father: it should never have happened, not to you and not to me. Now.' He stroked Dean's cheek, his other hand curled close around his hip. 'Whatever you want to do right now, we'll do it. We can stay, or go, or we can wait out here while you think about it, but it's your call, one hundred per cent. OK? But if you want my advice – and you might not –'
'I do,' said Dean. He leaned against Cas, eyes closed. 'Please.'
'All right, then. I think, when you're ready, we should go back inside, and try to sort this out. I'm not saying Sam wasn't out of line, or that you were wrong to say what you did, but he's your brother. But if you want to go, we'll go, no questions asked.'
Dean kissed him, wordless and soft, and said, 'All right.'
'All right what?'
'We'll go back in.' He laughed, and for a miracle, it almost sounded genuine. 'We'll... we'll have dinner. And it'll be awkward as hell, but at least it'll be honest. Or, well, sort of honest. But so help me, if he pulls that crap again, I'm done.'
'Deal.' Cas kissed his forehead. 'Do you need a minute? We can wait.'
Dean smiled crookedly. 'When did you get so damn sensible?'
'It's all Anna's influence. I think she's starting to rub off on me. But it's thanks to you, too, you know.'
'Me?' He sounded genuinely surprised. 'What did I do?'
'Everything,' Cas said, and kissed him soundly, pushing him back against the wall as he cupped his face. Dean grabbed his waist, pulling Cas closer, hands sliding up under the edge of his shirt, and for a blissful minute, nothing else in the world existed.
'Dean? Are you al– oh, shit! Sorry!'
They sprang apart just in time to see a red-faced Sam disappearing back into the house, the front swinging open behind him. Cas and Dean looked at each other, paused, and burst out laughing.
'Oh, man.' Dean grinned. 'The last time he walked in on me, I was half-naked with Alicia McKenzie. He freaked out so bad, he ran into the door. Gave himself a hell of a black eye, too.' The memory seemed to settle something within him; he sighed, and rolled his eyes in a siblings, what-can-you-do-with-them sort of way, and said. 'Come on. We might as well try again.'