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Backseats & Hard ons

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Dean wakes up in the backseat.

It was a salt and burn, simple as fuck.

A goddamned milk run.

He’s gonna kick Sam’s ass the next time his idiot brother uses that term to describe anything. It’s never a fucking milk run.

Not even getting milk is a fucking milk run.

He remembers going into the basement, and Sam slamming the wall open with a sledge hammer.

He remembers a ghost—pissed as fuck—screaming at him.

And slamming into something very hard.

Doesn’t remember much after that. He groans a little and the car jerks before it eases back into the right lane and a low voice he knows better than his own rumbles, “Dean?”

“Cas?” he blinks and shifts, a little. Pain lances up his side and he hisses as he shoves upright. “What are you doin?”

Castiel spares him a quick look, almost frowning. “Are you concussed? I checked and—”

“I don’t have a fucking concussion, Cas.” Dean huffs. He glances at Sam, passed out in the passenger seat. Blood has dried to his face, and he looks like a big ass bruise is blooming under his eye.

None of which explains—

“Why the fuck are you driving my car?”

It’s not that Dean doesn’t trust Cas. He does. More than anyone besides Sam. The angel has more than earned that.


It’s Baby.

He doesn’t even let Sam drive her, if he can help it.

“You were passed out, and Sam has a broken wrist. We were—short on options,” Cas says, his voice stiff and Dean knows he’s offended the angel.

He’s always managing to offend him.

The car is slowing and Dean looks around. They’re in the middle of nowhere. “Hey Cas? Whatchya doin?”

“Pulling over,” Cas says, as if that’s obvious. “So you can drive.”

Dean watches him, and—

He’s got a fucking headache, and it feels like his ribs are broken, and he can still feel blood clinging to him. But what really registers is the way Cas is sitting in the front seat, the way his long fingers wrap around the steering wheel. The way he slouches in the front seat, his gaze intent on the road, his strong profile glowing in the lights from the dash.

Cas looks right there.

The same kind of right he’s always looked, slumped in the backseat, or smiling gummy and bright from the couch in the bunker. He looks like he belongs.

More than that though—Dean shifts, and Cas looks back at him quickly. Checking him for discomfort.

It’s not pain though.

Cas smiles at him, and the lights of a passing semi light up his eyes and fuck.

He’s fucking gorgeous, there. Driving with such casual ease. Steering Dean’s Baby like it’s his own, while Dean and Sam sleep.

It’s hot as hell and Dean shifts again, pressing a hand to his dick to try and get the damn thing to settle.

It’s gonna be awkward as hell when Cas pulls over and he crawls out of the back with a fucking hard on.

But that’s what happens. Because try as he might, he can’t quit thinking about it.

About how Cas has, for so many years, taken care of them. How he belongs here.

How beautiful he is, humming off key, leaning forward just a little. Wincing as he pulls into the gravel and it dings off Baby’s sides. The way he hums reassurance to Sam as the car idles on the side of the road.

The way Sam mumbles in his sleep and lets it tug him back down, the quiet reassurance of their friend all it takes to ease his mind.

That shouldn’t be hot, either.

None of this should.

The way Cas strokes the wheel as he slides out, almost loving, shouldn’t make Dean’s dick twitch hard in his jeans.


He blinks. The door is open and Cas is waiting for him to slide out, to take his spot behind the wheel. Dean shifts out of the car, and hisses. Cas is there, bracing him up and murmuring reassurance.

“I would heal you,” he says, soft and frustrated. “I wish I still—”

Dean kisses him.

He doesn’t think about it.

Or maybe it’s that he’s so fucking tired of thinking about it.

But he kisses the one-time angel silent, and Cas goes stiff and startled against him, for the space of a heartbeat, before he makes a low noise, pleased and soft in his throat, and Dean licks at his lips.

And that produces another noise entirely.

When Cas licks into his mouth, his hands holding Dean’s head still, tugging just a little at his hair, kissing him like it’s all that he’s ever wanted.

Well, that feels right too.

Feels like home. Something Dean would never say aloud, but the way Cas purrs into him, and rubs his thumb over Dean’s racing pulse, his fingers a loose collar around his throat—maybe he doesn’t need to.

Maybe he already knows.

A semi whistles past them, shaking the Impala, and pushing the two of them against it and Dean gasps at the heavy press of Cas.

Apparently he’s not the only one with a hard on.

When Cas finally pulls away, Dean leans after him, chasing his lips before he realizes what he’s doing and he blinks at his one-time angel.

“Dean,” Cas whispers.

Dean sneaks another kiss, a quick press of lips before he ducks back into the back seat, and pointedly ignores Cas’s erection, mouth wateringly close.

“You look like you were enjoying driving, Cas.” He says, answering the question that is rising in the other’s eyes.

The smile that Cas flashes is worth letting someone else have control of his Baby.

And it’s just as right as everything else has been.

So if Dean rubs his dick, just a little and watches Cas drive them home—well. That’s ok. It’s just right.