moved

unable to sleep properly until he’s gotten as much down as he can, castiel stays up nights typing furiously, the blankets of dean’s bed drawn up around his waist. dean falls asleep to the rhythmic click of his typing, his forehead pressed to cas’ thigh, his fingers curled loosely around cas’ ankle or shin.

sometimes castiel will curse under his breath, frustrated with his fading memory and the inadequacy of the english language, and dean will stir and say hey, babe, what’s the deal and cas finds that talking the history through to dean soothes him, helps him organize his thoughts.

Then I remembered Rocket’s quote "I didn’t ask to be torn apart and put back together, over and over, and turned into…. some little monster!"

“Okay, so, uh.” Dean licks his lips for the billionthtime in the past few minutes. He drums his fingers against Cas’ stupid car’sbumper. “We just gotta figure out what’s wrong in here and then see if we canfix it up ourselves. I’m not bad at this, so—”

“You’re very good at it,” Cas corrects him calmly. “TheImpala loves you for it.”

“She’s not actually—whatever,” Dean says, barreling pastthe way Cas is probably about tell him his car has a soul or something. “Youready to get your hands dirty?”

Cas glances down at the hands in question, curling anduncurling his fingers. “That’s the purpose of this exercise, isn’t it?”

Shit, Cas is in jeans and a T-shirt and there’s a greasyrag tucked into his back pocket and Dean is fucked.

*

“Steady,” Dean says. He’s being a huge hypocrite, becausehis own voice is anything but steady. It’s the furrow between Cas’ brows, theslow trickle of sweat sneaking past the collar of his shirt. The smudge ofgrease across his cheek.

“I’m beingsteady,” Cas snaps, easing the Continental’s engine cover off with both hands.

“Dude.”

Cas lets out a breath and glances up and over at Dean. “Idon’t want to get this wrong.”

A little of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders,Dean nudges the heel of Cas’ boot with his toe. “Probably nothing you can screwup so bad I can’t fix it. Been doing this a while.”

Cas’ regard rests heavy on Dean’s face, his mouth,throwing Dean right off-balance again. “I trust you.”

Why does Cas just saythat stuff? Dean thinks about leaning in, wiping the grease off Cas’ face withhis thumb. Kissing him. It’s been too damn long since they kissed—what was it,last week? Dean never knows if he has permission to do it again, just knows hewants it like an idiot all the time.

“Keep going,” he says. “Dig around. Careful, but she’syour car. You gotta get to know her. No time like the present.”

*

“I think it’s—”

At Dean’s voice, Cas turns and his face is abruptly rightthe fuck there. His hair’s a huge wreck, the white T-shirt he took out of Dean’slaundry damp with sweat and clinging to the lean muscles of his shoulders. His fucking hipbones.

“Yes?” Cas prompts. He’s leaning into the guts of theContinental, easy and waiting, his head cocked.

Dean fists both hands in Cas’ T-shirt, drags him in, andkisses him.

*

“Dean,” Cas hisses in his ear. He rocks his hips hardinto Dean’s, tucking one big hand into Dean’s back pocket, a brand ofpossessive warmth cupping Dean’s ass.

“Yeah.” Dean’s panting, pressed against the side of Cas’car. It’s not comfy, but Cas’ dick is a hard line against his through all theirlayers of denim and cotton and he’s grinding up mindlessly, clutching at Cas’hips and arms and sides.

“Dean, I still don’t know what’s wrong with my car.”

“Cas.” Dean slotshis open mouth against Cas’, licking into the warmth of him. He tastes likecoffee and cornflakes and human. Who cares about his uglyass car, you neverknow when they’re all gonna die and what if he doesn’t get to taste Cas likethis again. What if he’s too chickenshit the next time and what if Cas doesn’twant him the way he wants Cas, the way he lies awake at night and tries toremember the exact tenor of Cas’ gasps and whimpers when Dean sucks his dickinto his mouth.

Thank fuck, Cas surrenders. He kisses Dean all sloppy andintent and they grab at each other and buck their hips and mouth at each other’sthroats and jaws until they’re coming in a messy rush, Dean’s head tipped backand Cas murmuring something low and heated he can’t make out over the hammer ofhis own heart.

*

Dean grunts and buries his face in Cas’ shoulder. They’regonna have to clean up sometime instead of standing here, but this is so damnnice. Cas keeps stroking his thighs, his back; sometimes their hands catch oneach other’s and it’s like they’re holding hands. Sappy as hell.

“Spark plugs,” Dean says blearily.

“Mm?” Cas rubs his thumb at the small of Dean’s back,under his shirt.

“I think it’s your spark plugs.”

Cas hesitates. “Maybe you can show me how to fix them,”he says slowly, “tomorrow.”

“Might take more than a day,” Dean lies.

“All the time you need. I’m yours.”