#sarasaurusrex

Something Wicked This Way Cums

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Dean grumbled as Sam quietly closed the door behind them.

“Isn’t that my line?”

Dean eyed Sam, catching a quick grin before he turned away.

They were in a dimly lit foyer adorned with skeletons and flickering torches. Unlike the actual haunted house they just finished ghost-busting, this one was much more lively. Through a doorway to their left was a spacious living room full of people. Plastic bats hung from the ceiling, swaying over a dance floor, and everyone was dressed up as ghouls, mummies, and witches. A DJ was set up in the corner playing nonsense (as far as Dean was concerned), and in the other corner was a large cauldron overflowing with green fog, inside of which people were pulling out beers. The only ghosts in this haunted house were the ones hanging from doorframes. Dean smacked one as he followed Sam into the party.

They barely had a chance to orient themselves before Sam was beckoned by a group of people. Sam shot Dean a ‘ready-or-not’ look then began weaving through the crowd.

To Dean’s relief, this group of people was hanging out at a fully decorated and (more importantly) fully stocked bar. Sam’s face lit up as all of his old college friends greeted him with roars of approval.

As their eyes fell on Dean one of them asked, “Is this your brother?”

“Yeah, this is Dean,” Sam said.

Dean gave them an artificial smile, hiding a candy bar he’d swiped down his jeans pocket.

“Your older brother?” A blonde guy that was closer to Sam’s height asked.

One look at Dean told Sam this wasn’t the way to get Dean to like his old friends. Sam changed the subject.

Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to meet Sam’s old college friends, they made him feel weirdly possessive, but seeing Sam so relaxed and cheerful made it all worthwhile. At least they all seemed normal. Aside from the costumes, of course. They’d gone all out dressing up as monsters and devils, some with full face make-up and plastic fangs. Sam and Dean were just in Batman and Superman shirts.

“Where are your glasses, Clark?” The bartender, who happened to be a pretty brunette, leaned over to chat with Sam.

Dean found his voice at last. “So, you guys were all classmates?” He interrupted, eying the girl doggedly.

“Yeah,” Sam grinned, pretending he didn’t notice, “Mr. Miller’s freshmen sociology class.”  

Soon they were all laughing and reminiscing. Dean discovered that one of Sam’s friends recently bought a motorcycle, and he was able to pass a good half hour explaining basic engine maintenance to him. And as annoying Sam’s brunette friend was, she made a mean Kentucky Mule.

At first, Dean was annoyed to find out their case was bringing them back to one of Sam’s old college haunts. Sam’s college excursion wasn’t something Dean liked to revisit, but if he was being honest with himself it was nice to feel included in that part of Sam’s life. He could have sat there listening to (and sharing) stories about his younger brother all night. That is, until he felt Sam’s fingers, shielded from view by the bar, casually slip through the belt loop of Dean’s jeans. Dean’s heart skipped a beat. That jerk. Sam wasn’t even looking at him but Dean could see a roguish glint in his eye, especially as Sam’s knuckles grazed the front of Dean’s jeans.

“I can’t believe you dressed up,” the bartender was talking to Sam again.

Sam took his hand back quickly.

“I mean, sort of.” She added.

‘Why did all his old friends have to be so attractive?’ Dean mused darkly.

“Hey, that’s dressing up for Sam,” someone else joked.

Sam was grinning again. “I said I’d dress up if he did.” He sipped his cocktail and eyed Dean.

‘That was a damn lie. The costumes were Sam’s idea...’ Dean cleared his throat, “Yeah, well, it suits you. Super-dork.” He retorted. He felt his cheeks beginning to flush, and he knew it wasn’t the alcohol.

Sam’s friends laughed and Sam smacked Dean’s Batman symbol. Dean flushed even more and actually choked on his drink.

“Is it too strong?” The way-too-pretty bartender asked.

Dean cleared his throat again, collecting himself. He could feel Sam’s eyes on him. “No, uh, it’s good. Hey, where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall...”

Dean grunted a ‘thanks’ and left with his drink.

Dean pushed his way through the crowd and opened the first door he found. Luckily it was indeed a bathroom. A very nice bathroom. The light nearly blinded him after all the colorful, flashing Halloween decorations.

He shut the door and set his drink down on the sink, taking deep, steadying breaths. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to this, and Sam wasn’t making it any easier. That ballsy jerk. Dean needed to cool it. He was surrounded by Sam’s old friends. Total strangers. He could do this.

A sound tore him from his mantra, and he realized someone was opening the door.

“Occupied!” he shouted, but the next thing he knew a tall someone was sidling into the room behind him.

Dean glared at his brother in the mirror. “You’re a monster.”

The noise from the party was muffled once again as Sam shut the door. Sam licked his lips, hiding a mischievous smile. The bathroom was small, but not small enough to warrant Sam looping his arms around Dean’s waist from behind.

“I thought I was Super-Dork?” Sam smiled.

Dean grinned to himself. “You are.” But his grin faded as Sam kissed his neck. Dean’s eyes closed reflexively, and Sam snuck his hands beneath Dean’s shirt. Dean felt his brain go hazy, but it wasn’t from the drink. “That girl… she kept staring at me. I think she knows...”

“No,” Sam said, “she was staring at you because you’re hot.”

Dean huffed in amusement, but he was flushing more than ever. Sam kept kissing his neck, distracting him as he slowly lifted the Batman shirt up Dean’s stomach.

“You ready to give up yet?” Sam murmured.

“It’s only been an hour!” Dean said, but the realization made his head even hazier.

Dean had a few bruises on his abdomen from the recent ghost hunt. It was nothing he couldn’t handle, but as Sam pulled his shirt higher up his chest something silver gleamed in the light.

“You sure?” Sam asked coolly.

Dean swallowed.

Sam lifted Dean’s shirt to his collarbone and admired his reflection. A thin chain was draped over Dean’s ribs, connecting two small clamps attached to each of Dean’s nipples. Dean’s chest was flushed, and his nipples were taut and rosy-red. Sam brushed his thumb against the chain, pulling slightly on it, and Dean’s eyes fluttered.

“There’s no shame in it… giving up so early I mean.” Sam’s voice was casual, but his smile was more roguish than ever.

Dean managed his best scowl, which amounted to more or less than a grimace. “Shut up.”

He should have known Sam would come check on him in the bathroom. In truth, Dean had been thinking about jerking himself off in secret.

“Remember, we have to stay for three hours,” Sam said, running his thumb over the chain. Each link sent tiny vibrations to his nipples, which in turn sent electric waves down to his cock. “No jerking off…”

Dean eyed him mutinously.

“Hey, I said I’d make sure you enjoyed yourself tonight, didn’t I?”

Despite his look of displeasure, Dean couldn’t hide the heat rising in his voice. “I’ll tell you something you can do to make me ‘enjoy myself’...”

Sam smiled wickedly. It was the kind of smile that rarely graced his normally calm and calculated facade, and Dean loved it. Sam pulled lightly on the chain, maintaining the pressure, and Dean had to swallow a moan. The clamps squeezing his nipples sent shock waves of pleasure through his whole body. Afraid of the sounds that were sure to come out of him as Sam continued to tug on the chain, he reached over his shoulder and yanked Sam into a kiss. Sam didn’t mind at all.

Dean channeled his frustration and arousal into the kiss, nipping and fighting with Sam’s tongue. Soon they were making out in front of the mirror, and Sam was pressing Dean’s hips into the sink. Sam’s usual earthy taste was complemented by caramel and alcohol. But then Dean’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. Sam’s fingers had crept up the chain link by link, until he found a firm nipple and rubbed it between his fingertips. Sam took full advantage of Dean’s gasp and kissed him deeply, tasting the whiskey on the back of his tongue.

When Dean finally got his breath back he muttered, “You’re really gonna make me go out there with a hard-on, aren’t you?”

“It’s dark. No one will notice.” Sam replied swiftly, now pitching and feeling Dean’s sensitized nipple.

Dean gripped the sink ledge, willing himself not to reach down his own pants. He remembered when Sam discovered this particular weakness of his (Sam called it a kink), and he now knew he’d been right in being both aroused and afraid by that discovery. Sure enough, when Dean said he didn’t feel like joining Sam at the Halloween party, Sam found a way to make it more interesting.

It was a simple bet. If Dean could keep the clamps on for the whole party, no jerking off, then he could have Sam any way he wanted afterwards. Unable to turn down a challenge from his brother (and unwilling to admit he could be reduced to a puddle from nipple play alone) Dean agreed. But now, standing in front of the mirror with Sam toying with his trapped nipples, Dean was beginning to suspect this was Sam’s plan all along. Dean’s mind was mush, and all he could do was stand there and let the sensations torment his cock.

Sam kissed him lazily, drawing slow, maddening circles over the hardened peak of his nipple, while Dean felt all of his blood leave his brain. And when Sam snuck another hand around him to tweak his other nipple, Dean groaned through his teeth.

“Damnit, Sammy...”

Sam was enjoying it way too much, but so was Dean. Unable to take it, he turned in Sam’s arms, grabbed him by the hair (because two could play at the ‘kink’ game), and kissed him deeply. Sam responded immediately, pressing him against the sink and kissing back hotly.

“Is that a candy bar in your pocket or…” Sam mused.

“C’mon, let’s just… right here. Real quick...” Dean muttered.

But Sam kept tonguing him against the sink. “So you give up?” he asked, beginning to grope Dean’s chest with large, calloused hands.

A war was raging in Dean’s head, but before he could reply, Sam ducked down. Dean’s lips parted and as Sam’s wet, hot tongue met the smooth, metal clamps and the tender, pinkened nipple trapped between.

“You can have me right here, right now,” Sam murmured, “you just have to say it.”

“Goddammit, Sam!” Dean mouthed, his voice barely above a moan as Sam’s tongue swirled and sucked the willpower out of him.

Dean yanked Sam’s hair, as if holding onto a particularly vicious mechanical bull, but that only spurred Sam on more, nipping and sucking at Dean’s flushed nipples and tugging gently on the chain when his free hand. Dean had never been so turned on without a single touch to his cock. He was completely erect now, and he knew if he could just get those lips around his cock he’d only need a few good sucks. Hell, he could probably just rub himself through his pants.

Without realizing it, Dean had reached down the front of his jeans. He only noticed when Sam caught him by the wrist. Sam looked up at him with that wicked gleam in his eye, then licked the length of Dean’s finger.

“For fuck’s s…”

Sam chuckled, sucking on Dean’s finger. “You gotta say it, Dean. ‘I give up’.”

Dean was planning on caving. His brain had already decided for him, and it had even found the justification — Sam would give him an orgasm so great that he would never be able to live it down, but it would be totally worth it. Right? Who needed to win a stupid bet, anyway? But despite that rational (if he could call it that), he found himself muttering a hearty and defiant, “No.”

Dean looked almost surprised by it, but Sam didn’t. In fact, his smile widened.

Sam had always been the kinkier one. He could go for hours before getting off. Dean didn’t have that kind of patience, even though he liked to be the one in charge. But Dean was defiant, he was resilient, and if there was one thing he loved more than instant gratification it was all the wicked little things Sam did to make him break.

Sam stood up fully and slid Dean’s shirt back down, hiding the silver chain from view. Dean wanted to groan in resignation, but the idea of having Sam all to himself in the back of the Impala in two hours fortified him. And he could tell by the way Sam bit his lip that he was envisioning the same thing.

“You’re going to make me regret this party, aren’t you?” Dean glared at him.

“Definitely.” Sam stole a kiss, leaning knowingly into Dean’s erection. Dean kissed back, savoring it.

Sam broke away and patted Dean’s Batman signal again, feeling the chain beneath the t-shirt and Dean’s protruding nipples.

Dean flushed. “You are so getting it later.”

Sam gave him a look of innocence as he opened the bathroom door for him. Light spilled out into the dark party and the music resumed. Dean grabbed his drink off the sink, adjusted his pants not-so-subtly (Sam looked away tactfully), and walked right past him into the flickering Halloween lights.

In this story, Cas moves into an old house, only to discover in a delightful crescendo of events that it’s haunted. The cover was inspired by the house as a secondary character. A simple little standup structure of paper, this little house was created by layering paper around a translucent sheet and shining a red light through the bottom, and a white light directly behind to illuminate the skull.

The cover without lighting...

While the house belongs to Cas, Dean also must confront its shadows. Inspired by Dean’s reaction to the house, I wanted to make a small portrait of how I felt as he investigated the haunting.

While I was hooked by the creepy imagery, I really enjoyed the building relationship between Dean and Cas. This pivotal scene of kissing in the kitchen needed to be created. Gardens and moon lilies appear throughout the story, and I had fun populating the next two pieces with abstract growth and greenery. (Sorry, Cas’s kitchen is NOT full of vines - but it IS full of kissing!)

This kitchen kiss was originally just a simple little kiss against a refrigerator. But in typical fashion, I just kept adding more to the picture until I was happy with it.

Why yes, I DID end up ripping off their heads and trying again.

I eventually built it into the deep shadowbox frame I like to build scenes onto when I want to add a little more shadow to the final shots. Direct sunlight is always best to bring out colors and the morning sun created these sharp shadows.

Like the kitchen, the final fight near the end of the story involved lots of narrative threads finally coming together. I loved the image of Cas with a water gun and Dean with a rifle, so placing them in this pivotal scene where everything begins to crescendo was a lot of fun. I had more trouble with this scene, finding it difficult to decide how to stage it, shoot it, and add details. In the end, it's a bit of a salad of all the things I really enjoyed about this story - creepy ghost children, danger, and Dean+Cas in L.O.V.E. and working together.

I had a tough time with this scene. Should it be simple - just Dean+Cas? Should I have ghost children? How should I light it? ARGH! Art is hard. Here are just a couple of drafts. Soooo many drafts.

Moon lilies grow near the house in the story, and seemed like the perfect divider. Figuring out how to make these flowers took way too long, but once I got them, they were fast and fun to create once I made a simple template to trace and added some watercolor. They're a simple 5 point flower design, with a hole punched in the middle and some shredded cardstock pushed through. The veins are lightly painted with green, and green marker colors the tips of the flower centers.

Sam Winchester stood stationary in the bunker’s hallway. The dull, yellow glow of the light above him highlighted the unkempt state of his hair as she stood, his head bowed. His arm was in a sling, and his free hand was rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted, yet the dull ache in his arm and the pounding in his head was nothing compared to the burning in his chest. He inhaled deeply. It was only when the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall that he forced himself to look up.

“Sam?” Castiel appeared around the corner.

“Hey, Cas.” Sam put on an alert face. “I’m just, uh…” he started, but one look at Castiel told him he didn’t need to explain himself.

Castiel looked as weary as Sam felt. His haggard and half-unbuttoned dress shirt spoke more to this than the shadows under his eyes or his ruffled hair. He looked oddly small without his coat. In fact, he looked almost human.

In their moment of mutual silence, their gazes both fell to the door behind Sam. Room 7B.

“How are you doing?” Sam broke the silence.

“Fine,” Castiel lied. “You said you had a lead on Crowley?”

“Yeah… yeah, I think so.” It took him a moment to realize what Castiel was talking about. “You’re in no shape to go after him, Cas. You should stay here.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I think you should go after him. Maybe he can give us more information.”

Sam stared at Castiel in surprise. “I can’t leave now.”

“You need a break,” Castiel said. “You’ve been at this for hours. I can take over for a while.”

Sam studied Castiel. For a moment Sam looked worried. It looked like he wanted to ask Castiel something. His eyes fell to the shadow of a beard around Castiel’s jaw. When Sam finally replied his voice was heavy. “I know you’re worried, but this is my fault. I need to take care of it.”

“Sam...”

Castiel’s voice was so gentle that it momentarily made Sam’s throat burn again, but it brought him a sense of comfort. If there was anyone he could trust with this, it was Castiel. He thought about what Castiel was suggesting again.

“You’re weak, Cas…”

“I know,” Castiel cut him off, “but I can finish it. It might be better this way.”

Sam’s dark eyes seemed to glisten in the dull light. It looked like he wanted to ask something, something important, but ultimately he didn’t say a thing. He understood. It was their shared grief that convinced him to hand over the reins. He licked his lips, then nodded.

“Alright. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Call me if anything happens.”

Castiel nodded back.

They didn’t look at each other or say goodbye. Sam cast one last glance at the door, then headed down the hallway. Castiel watched him vanish, his footsteps receding into the ringing silence. Castiel could still hear the lockdown alarm reverberating in his ears. He buttoned the sleeves of his shirt, suppressed a cough, then opened the door to room 7B.

The bunker’s archive room was normally filled with lore-laden shelves, boxes of meticulously categorized objects, and hundreds of files, but today the shelves were pushed aside revealing a spotlit, brick-lined dungeon. In the center sat a metal chair surrounded by a demon trap, and in the chair, restrained with leather straps, sat Dean Winchester. He looked up to see his new guest and a cold smile parted his lips.

“Hey, Cas,” he said, his eyes flashing black.

Dean Winchester had been returned to the bunker mere hours ago. He’d already broken out once but, as Sam put it, it just meant the treatment was working. Still, Dean didn’t look any more human than when Castiel had arrived. Dean seemed as alien to his own home as if he’d never been there. His sharp, green eyes followed Castiel’s every movement as continued Sam’s work. Dean only seemed to become crueller with every injection, however. His taunts were only broken by roars of pain as Castiel injected him over and over again with blood.

“You know, if I were you I’d just call it a day,” Dean jeered, panting after an injection. Despite his sharp tongue, he looked as exhausted as Castiel. “Sam was strong,” he pressed on. “He could’ve gone all night. But you? You don’t look so good, Cas.”

Dean said his name like a profanity, but Castiel wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing a reaction. Castiel kept his eyes averted, wiping the needle down before he lined it up with his own forearm. He could feel Dean’s cocky grin burning into him.

“You were human enough to escape that trap,” Castiel replied simply. “This is working, Dean.”

Dean eyed the needle with apparent disinterest, but the overcompensation in his voice gave him away. “You know, Sam got enough blood bags to feed a whole vampire nest. But you… you just can’t wait to stick me with your own, huh?” He grinned darkly.

It was true, there was a small fridge loaded with blood beside the work table, but Castiel wasn’t using it. He inhaled sharply as the needle pierced his own skin. He watched as the syringe began filling with dark, red liquid.

“It’s a ritual of sanctified blood,” Castiel grumbled. “There’s no blood more sanctified than an angel’s.”

Dean watched him beadily. Castiel looked pale.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, “Sanctified blood. But you’re not human, are you?”

Castiel didn’t respond. He removed the apparatus from his arm and set it aside, then he pressed his fingers to the prick of blood to heal it. There was a progression of the darker and darker marks, a timeline of injections. A sudden coughing fit overcame Castiel and he gripped the work table.

When he recovered, he saw Dean grinning at him.

“Does Sam know?” Dean taunted. “How bad it really is?”

Castiel’s eyes were as light as Dean’s were black. Dean’s smiling was growing, like a predator lurking beneath the grass.

“You think I can’t tell?” he mused, leaning forward in his bonds. “I’m a demon, Cas. I can smell it in you. How much grace do you have left, huh? How long until that ‘sanctified blood’ needs a blessing to work on me?”

Castiel didn’t respond. He collected himself, standing up tall, then began preparing the next injection.

Dean seemed to take that as confirmation. “You weren’t beyond a little grace-stealing before,” he went on, talking over the clinking of equipment on the table. “What happened? Tired of killing your own species? Or are you just tired of being one of them?”

He couldn’t see Castiel’s face, but the obvious pause in his preparations gave Dean a second wind.

“That’s right, Crowley told me all about it. You won’t kill another angel, you won’t tell Sam the truth, what are you even doing here? Sam had this under control. Are you just trying to feel useful? Because you’re not.” Dean smiled triumphantly. “We don’t need you, Cas. We never did. Crowley was a better friend to me in the last month than you ever were.”

Castiel stared in silence at the blood-filled syringe. It gleamed dully in the dark dungeon. At last, he turned back to Dean and muttered, “Injection number twenty. One-forty-two-am.”

Dean’s gaze turned icy.

“You call me the demon, but angels?” He gave a rough laugh as Castiel double-checked Dean’s restraints. “You’re just as bad. Look what you did, Cas. You ruined everyone’s lives. Sam’s, Jimmy’s, mine. We’re both monsters! You belong in this trap, right by my side!”

Castiel clasped his hand on Dean’s bound arm and Dean snarled reflexively. Castiel summoned all of his strength and plunged the needle into Dean’s arm.

Dean roared. He thrashed in his bonds, but it was useless. His arm was trapped in the leather straps and by Castiel’s grasp, and Castiel didn’t ease up until Dean had collapsed back in the chair. The effort affected them both, however. As Dean panted and caught his breath, Castiel gripped the back of the chair to steady himself.

“It’s pointless, Cas,” Dean breathed. “There’s no saving either of us. You know that.”

Castiel repressed the discomfort Dean’s cynical gaze caused him. Castiel couldn’t tell if that was Dean or the demon talking, and even worse, he wasn’t sure if it mattered.

“Now long now,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean glared at him as he walked back to the work table. For a moment the sound of Dean’s rough, rhythmic breaths was broken only by the gentle clinking of delicate tools.

“If this doesn’t work…” Dean said, “you know what you gotta do, right? You got the stomach for that?”

Castiel didn’t respond. He didn’t have the strength to but he supposed, in the end, it wouldn’t matter. He had already made his decision.

Dean cocked his head and, as if reading his mind, he asked, “Or are you not planning on being around for that part?” Dean saw Castiel pause for a second time, but Dean wasn’t smiling anymore.

When Castiel turned around he looked like he’d aged several years over the past few hours. When he first stepped into the dungeon he could tell that Dean wasn’t wholly human. He could see it. But that was no longer the case. Castiel could no longer tell how much humanity was or wasn’t in Dean, nor could he sense how much he had in himself. He felt weak, although as his strength diminished his mind only became more clear.

Dean continued to taunt Castiel as he extracted the next injection, but none of it seemed to have any weight. When Castiel once again clasped his hand on Dean’s arm, the ruby red syringe placed against Dean’s skin, Dean mustered out only one word.

“Don’t…”

Castiel ignored him. He plunged the needle in, and Dean shouted in agony.

“Stop!” He shouted. “Is this what you really want? Huh? You’re going to kill yourself!”

Castiel extracted the needle from Dean’s arm, and he roared again.

“Don’t!” He groaned. “Don’t...Don’t you die for me, Cas!”

Castiel stared at Dean. Dean was glaring at him, heaving and sweating in the chair, but there was something beyond his anger. Castiel knew it was time to call Sam, but Castiel couldn’t bring himself to move. He just stood there beside Dean, the empty syringe in his hand, feeling his own heart beating against his ribcage.

“Don’t do this, Cas. I’m not worth it.” Dean pleaded with him. “I’m not.”

Castiel’s expressionless facade wavered for the first time in what felt like years. There was a moment, less than a millisecond, where Castiel could have sworn he saw Dean’s humanity as plainly as if it were a feature of his face, and Castiel knew Dean could see it just as plainly in Castiel. Two monsters were dying in the dimly lit dungeon. Castiel took out his phone to text Sam.

“Cas… stop...”

Castiel’s expression hardened and, once again, he plunged the syringe into his own arm.

Dean groaned in frustration. “Damnit, Cas…”

The way Dean said his name caused Castiel more grief than ever. It was no longer a jeer, it was a plea.

“I don’t… I don’t want it,” Dean begged him. “It’s not worth it.”

Castiel looked at Dean sadly. “Humanity…” he said slowly, monitoring the blood rising in the syringe, “...it is worth it. And so are you, Dean.”

Dean stared up at him in hopeless frustration.

“You’re not a monster, Dean. You’ve never been.”

Dean looked away and closed his eyes as if he was in pain, but Castiel’s voice only became stronger.

“All this hate and anger, you think that’s what drives you, but that’s not who you are. Everything you’ve ever done, you have done for love. You became a demon… for love.” Castiel removed the needle without a wince and placed his hand gently on Dean’s arm. Dean trembled. “That’s who you really are. You are the most caring man on earth, the most selfless, loving human being. You think humanity is the real curse, but it’s not. I would choose it over everything else, every time, for you.” Castiel’s throat was prickling, but he refused to cough. He set the needle against Dean’s skin with steady hands.

Dean didn’t open his eyes.

“You changed me, Dean,” Castiel rasped. “You made me human. Now I’m going to repay the favor, no matter the cost, because it’s worth it, Dean. You are worth it.”

There was a plea in Castiel’s voice, a plea for Dean to look at him, so Dean did. He glared at Castiel, but it was a glare of grief. It was such a human expression that Castiel was relieved to see it. He smiled, despite the ache in his heart, and said, “I love you.”

Dean’s glare faded the smallest amount before Castiel plunged the needle into his arm. Dean roared in agony but he didn’t thrash. Castiel’s gentle grip on his arm seemed to still him completely. Castiel could practically feel the last of his grace leaving him through the syringe, purifying Dean’s body. A tear slipped past Castiel’s eyelashes, but he continued to watch Dean.

As Dean’s groans subsided, neither of them spoke. The silence rang louder than the lockdown alarm, the memory of which felt like it came from another lifetime. Slowly, Dean’s head drooped onto his chest and Castiel dropped the syringe. He knelt down and grasped Dean’s face, supporting him. The effort was astounding, but Castiel fought through it. He wanted nothing more than to pass out himself, but tending to Dean gave him strength. At last, Dean looked at him, his green eyes glistening.

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel’s smile returned.

Dean seemed unable to fully support himself in the chair, so Castiel began fumbling with the restraints, undoing them one by one. Once Dean was freed, Castiel pulled him close and eased him onto the floor. Now completely winded, they sat on the floor together, leaning against one another, neither speaking, neither moving. The passing of time that once seemed so mercurial to Castiel was now precious. He couldn’t sense Dean’s humanity, but he didn’t need his grace for that. He could feel it in the way Dean withheld his full weight against Cas, unwilling to burden himself upon Castiel completely.

A coughing fit suddenly seized Castiel and he turned away, rumbling against Dean. There was no longer a careless rage in Dean’s eyes. Instead, there was a profound grief, but it only made Castiel smile wider.

“Cas,” Dean said. “You idiot.”

Castiel chuckled. He couldn’t help it. It felt strange, but it happened as naturally and easily as coughing. Dean stared at him, bewildered by Castiel’s smile. But slowly, gradually, Dean’s expression softened as well.

“You complete idiot.”

Castiel beamed at him.

Dean put his head on Castiel’s shoulder as if in exasperation, but Castiel knew it was a hug. He put his arms around Dean’s back and felt Dean do the same. The seconds that passed were the longest and most sublime he’d ever experienced. Castiel felt his throat prickle again, but this time he didn’t cough. He sniffed.

The sound of footsteps slowly joined the sounds of Dean’s breathing and the hum of the fridge. The door to room 7B opened, and neither Castiel nor Dean turned around. They knew who was rushing in.

“Dean! Cas!” Sam hurried over to them. He sank down on his knees and put a hand on each of their shoulders.

Dean looked up at him and gave him a brave smile. “Hey, Sammy.”

Sam beamed at him in relief. Speechless, he took Dean into a hug right there on the floor, then pulled Castiel in as well. Castiel could feel the gratitude rolling off of Sam in waves.

“Are you okay?” He finally pulled away to look at them both. “What happened?”

Dean merely grunted in response, so Castiel answered for him. “We’re okay.”

Until that point, Sam had only eyes for his brother, but Castiel watched as Sam spotted the unused blood bags and untouched fridge. Sam hesitated, then looked down at Castiel. Castiel could see a flicker of deep concern crack Sam’s celebration.

“Cas… what…?”

Castiel could practically hear Sam figuring out what he’d done.

Sam stared at him in shock. “The blood was purified, Cas. You didn’t need to… What happened?”

“I was afraid the normal blood wouldn’t work,” Castiel admitted. “This wasn’t a normal case.”

Sam stared at him. Castiel didn’t have the strength to look at Dean.

“But, your grace...I mean,” He asked. “Are you okay?”

“One problem at a time, Sam,” Dean spoke up.

Castiel was grateful.

Sam nodded to himself, “Right. Yeah, okay.”

Deciding to hold off on any more questions, Sam helped the two of them to their feet. Seeing Dean gave him a weary smile melted away Sam’s concerns, at least for the time being.

“Welcome back, Dean,” Sam said.

The three of them left the archive room and settled down at the research table. Sam had made an enormous plate of grilled cheese sandwiches and they all sat together, eating and drinking in a somewhat subdued state of relief.

Sam filled them in on Crowley’s whereabouts, even though he hadn’t been able to make contact before Castiel had texted him. Keeping Dean’s advice in mind, Sam hadn’t brought up the fact that the Mark of Cain was still on Dean’s arm, but it was clear that their next mission was to find Crowley regardless. None of them spoke about Castiel’s grace or the coughs he suppressed throughout the meal.

At last, Castiel excused himself from the table without taking any of the sandwiches. His beer was still nearly full. Sam looked unsettled, but he didn’t need to say anything to Dean. Dean excused himself moments later, and Sam began cleaning up.

Castiel had been set up in one of the bunker’s many spare rooms. He’d taken it up in the past but hadn’t gone to any lengths to make himself at home, as Sam had often told him to do. His coat hung off the back of a chair, and Castiel was staring at it from where he sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes were unfocused. He didn’t notice the footsteps coming down the hallway, or the quiet knock on the door. It opened moments later and Castiel saw Dean look in.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel rumbled.

Taking that as an invitation, Dean stepped inside and closed the door behind him. While the grilled cheese sandwiches and beer seemed to have given Dean some of his color back, he looked pensive and unsettled. Dean’s eyes fell to the unhealed needle marks on his arm. Castiel rolled his sleeve down.

“How are you doing?” Castiel asked.

“Can’t complain.” Dean shrugged. “How about you?”

“Fine,” Castiel said, although an unexpected sound from his stomach betrayed him.

Dean’s eyes were hard. “You know, you’re going to have to eat now. And shower. And drink water...”

Castiel smiled slightly. “One problem at a time.”

Dean’s own words coming out of Castiel’s mouth softened Dean’s expression. He sighed and crossed the room, sitting down beside Castiel. Castiel forgot how warm humans were.

“It’s not your fault, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. He’d seen Dean’s eyes drift to the Mark of Cain.

Dean didn’t respond, so Castiel went on.

“None of it is. You did it to protect the people you love.”

“Yeah, and now you’re going to die because of it,” Dean muttered.

Castiel sighed. “If I was going to die from losing my grace, I would have done it already.”

This didn’t seem to help, however. Dean stared at him. “So you were planning on dying, then? To save me?”

Castiel didn’t flinch. “Yes,” he said simply.

Dean looked away, his jaw stiffening. He looked like he was searching for something to say. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “It’s an unusual case. Angels becoming human…  As far as I know, I’m the first one who’s done it. Twice now. Maybe there’s more to being human than either of us know.”

Dean didn’t respond to this. He looked conflicted. He was staring at Castiel’s coat on the back of the chair, layered in stains and wounds.

Castiel could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on them. Yet, he felt bulletproof more than ever before.

“Dean,” he said boldly. “I meant what I said. All of it.”

Dean didn’t move.

“And I’d do it ag…”

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean muttered, moving his arm over Castiel’s knee and taking his hand in his.

Castiel was caught off guard, but he held Dean’s hand back without thinking. When he looked back up at Dean, he spotted a flush of color rising in his face. The tension in the room seemed to melt away. When Dean returned Castiel's gaze, he saw that Castiel was smiling at him. It was a startlingly human expression. Dean had never seen it before, and before he realized it Dean was smiling, too.

“You’re an idiot,” Dean said in disbelief, even as he held Castiel’s hand tight.

Castiel smiled wide. “I know that.”

Dean chuckled. They held hands in the silence of the bunker, their forearms pressed together, the Mark of Cain matching the needle marks. Castiel once again felt time passing in slow, blissful seconds. Two humans, reunited.