Fic - Before and After
Jan. 1st, 2010 10:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zoemathemataTitle:Before and After
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas
Spoilers: Season 5
Warnings: None
Word Count:~4100
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: In which Castiel gets cold. Dean takes it upon himself to warm him up and possibly starts to realize a few things. Sam is traumatized for life.
Castiel is learning that his life has now become easily categorizable into “befores” and “afters.”
Before he started losing his powers.
After he started losing his powers.
The sense of having a before and after with regards to his power shift is not as jarring as it should be, for if he’s honest with himself, he had already started classifying his life into “before” and “after.”
Before Dean Winchester.
After Dean Winchester.
If he can ignore the gnawing despair he sometimes feel as his power slowly bleeds away in his shift from angel to human, and if he doesn’t allow the newly discovered emotion of fear to claw at him too deeply, he thinks that one of the most difficult things about the transition has been temperature regulation and consistency.
Although given the extreme variations in temperature across the globe, it really isn’t surprising that he has a hard time mastering it. As an angel he travelled from what the humans called scorching heat around the equator to what they classified as the painful cold of the poles and he really felt no difference.
Certainly not when he had no vessel. In his angelic form, temperature has no meaning.
When he was inhabiting a vessel, it did not take much for him to maintain a constant temperature. He hardly gave it a thought. But now he finds he needs to focus on it. It is a task that must be minded and not simply left to what passes for his subconscious.
It is also easily forgotten if he is more concerned with other things. Such as fighting demons.
Like the ones he was fighting moments earlier.
He had known the book would be guarded, but he truly had not expected more than two or three demons. Lower level demons at best. He expected it would be difficult, but not impossibly so.
The location was so remote and isolated, he had been unprepared for the five demons that had been stationed to guard the ancient text.
He belatedly realizes that he got blood on the fragile papyrus book clutched to his chest, but he does not have the energy to heal himself. He will need all his strength to get out of the building and then get off the desecrated ground. The building is covered in angelic sigils and runes, blocking him from teleporting out. The desecration of the soil around the structure also keeps him from using his powers.
He believes he is beginning to understand the human feelings of defeatism and despair. Getting in had been difficult. Killing the demons had been difficult. Getting out is going to be difficult as well.
It had occurred to him to ask Dean and Sam to join him as comrades in arms; ‘backup’ is the human term Dean uses. But the Winchesters were exhausted from their latest hunt and Castiel thought he could complete this task without assistance.
He believes he is also coming to be familiar with regret.
He still struggles with the human concept of time, so he’s not sure how long it takes him to find his way out of the building. The frigid night air blasting across his face is a surprise and it feels even colder where it strikes still wet blood oozing from his temple. Generally he has no opinions about the weather. It is never neither too hot nor too cold, it simply just is. But tonight, with his senses dulled by the sigils on the building and the desecrated ground, the utter white out conditions of the blizzard confuse his vision. Without his powers, he’s not sure which way to go, although he supposes it hardly matters. He need only pick a direction and stick to it. He will know as soon as he is free from desecrated ground; he will feel it. As soon as he is free, he can teleport.
To Dean.
And Sam, of course.
He tips his head against the onslaught of icy, wet snow and begins to walk.
***
Dean flips through the limited channel selection for the fourth time. It’s not like something will magically become appealing, he knows this. Years of channel surfing in random hotels has taught him this. But he still continues flickering through, pausing on each one shortly on the off chance that something will have changed.
Maybe he’s an optimist.
Either that or he’s just really, really bored. And lazy. Tough call.
He’s basically just killing time until Sam gets back with dinner. Their hunt was over a couple of days ago and they are just laying low, getting some rest and shut eye, looking for another case. Hanging out in sweatpants and ratty t-shirts, eating bad food and watching daytime tv until something pops. It’s not so bad, actually. It’s almost like a vacation.
He snorts. Winchester vacation. Which can only be enjoyed at cheap motels in piss-ass towns in the middle of nowhere. They definitely don’t make brochures for this.
He hears the tell-tale flapping of wings and rustling of feathers that always means the imminent arrival of Cas. And he might smile. A little.
Just a really tiny one.
It disappears immediately as he takes in the sight of Cas who is a wet, sodden lump on the floor. His trench-coat is soaked through, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. A puddle of water is congealing around the angel, soaking into the carpet. Bright red blood is trailing down Cas’ face, mixing in with the moisture and turning a watery pink before it drips down his neck and seeps into the normally pristine white shirt.
“Fuck, Cas.”
Dean springs off the bed and crouches beside Castiel. With shaking, jerking hands, Castiel reaches into his coat and pulls out the ancient text. It is miraculously dry. While he could not expend any energy to heal himself nor keep himself from the weather, he could not afford to let anything happen to the book. He holds it out to Dean. Dean frowns at it and takes it.
“What the fuck?”
“K-k-keep it,” Castiel stutters and has to force the last word out, “dry.”
Dean tosses it up on the table ignoring Castiel’s wince as he does. “Dry as the desert up there, now what the fuck happened to you.”
“D-d-demons. B-b-book.”
That’s actually enough for Dean and he nods in understanding. “Are you hurt? Did they whammy you?” He grabs Cas’ chin to tilt his head up so he can get a better look at his eyes.
“Fuck!” Dean exclaims. “You’re freezing!”
His precious burden of the book now safe, Castiel starts to huddle in on himself.
Dean forces Cas’ face up to meet his. “Are you hurt?”
“N-n-n…”
“I’ll take that as a no. Sit up.”
Cas tries to do as Dean tells him but he struggles to get from his prone position on the floor into a seated state.
“Can’t you whammy yourself dry?”
He wants to say he used up the last of his current resources getting to the motel. He’s not sure why it’s so hard for him to speak, he doesn’t understand what has happened to his body. It’s cold and uncomfortable, stiff and slightly painful. He has the uncontrollable urge to lay back down on the floor and curl in on himself until he can gather his strength and fix his body. He wants to say all this to Dean but all that comes out is a sort of ‘nrgle’ sound.
“Jesus, I can’t believe I’m actually gonna say this, but we gotta get you out of those wet clothes.” Dean actually rolls his eyes a bit at his words. He gets behind Cas and peels off the trench-coat and suit jacket together, dropping them immediately on the floor. As soon as Cas’ arms are free he crosses them over his chest, pulling his knees into his body.
“Don’t get too cosy like that, everything else has to come off.”
It seems like the most ridiculous idea to Castiel. He is cold. The last thing he wants to do is take off his clothes and be more exposed.
Dean takes one look at Castiel’s furrowed brow and confused eyes and he gets it. “You gotta get ‘em off before you can get warm.”
Castiel tries to pull at his tie but Dean just bats his hands out of the way and yanks at it himself, loosening it and then pulling it free.
“What the hell happened to you?” Dean is more or less talking to himself since he knows full well that Castiel can’t answer in his current state. “You went off and did some crazy ass shit by yourself, didn’t you?” He doesn’t expect an answer, nor does he wait for one before continuing his tirade as he unbuttons the sodden weight of Castiel’s shirt. “I fucking knew it. Can’t come get me and Sam, oh no, gotta go run off and play cowboys and indians by yourself. Honestly.”
Castiel does not see what either men who work with bovines or Native Americans have to do with this entire situation and it must be expressed on his face because Dean rolls his eyes again. Dean pushes the wet fabric off of the angels shoulders and helps Cas pull his arms free.
Dean rocks back on his heels and eyes Cas’ waistband like it’s speaking to him in foreign tongues. He reaches for it, stops, starts up again and then stops again. He clears his throat. He purses his lips. His fingers twitch. Dean’s eyes travel over the length of Castiel’s leg and then settle on his shoes.
Shoes are cool. He can totally do shoes. Socks are okay too.
Castiel watches as Dean tugs off his shoes and socks with a kind of strange fascination until he is distracted by his teeth chattering.
It’s the most amazing feeling. The vibrations of his jaw, the sound it makes in his head, the utter lack of control he has over it. He brings one shivering hand up to touch his chin and under the pressure of his fingertips, the chattering stops. He lets go so it will start up again. He likes it. It’s rhythmic and somewhat soothing. He can hear it through the inside of his ear canal and from the outer senses of his ear. It’s fascinating.
Castiel is not overly concerned about his state. He knows as soon as he regains his strength, these unfamiliar sensations will pass. As his body begins shivering he tries to track and categorize the feelings and tactile input.
Dean is clearing his throat again and Castiel looks at him expectantly. Dean points at Cas waistband, looks away and then looks back.
“You’re, uh… I’m gonna have to… because they’re wet too…”
Castiel frowns in consternation even as he shivers. Dean is blushing, a red flush creeping up his neck and traveling across his face. He’s looking at the corner of the motel room like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
“Just take your pants off!” Dean finally exclaims. Castiel tries to slip the button through the hole in the fabric but his fingertips are uncooperative and the fabric is recalcitrant.
“Motherfucker,” he hears Dean mumble and then Dean’s hands are at his waist and Dean is undoing the button quickly and unzipping Castiel’s pants, all at the same time he is muttering under his breath, “… Angel, angel, angel of the Lord, nothing awkward at all here…” Dean stands and beckons with his hands for Cas to hold his out. Which of course he does as soon as he recognizes the request. Dean’s hands are warm where they wrap around his cold fingers and Dean tugs him to his feet. Dean lets go for a moment to push Cas’ pants down and Castiel stares at the top of Dean’s head. Though he has no real frame of reference, he does think that Dean has a rather nice head.
“You gotta step your feet out of them,” Dean says as he turns his head up slightly and catches Cas staring down at him. The angel does as instructed jerkily stepping his feet out of the fabric, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder for balance as he does. Dean finally stands and ends up just staring at him weirdly. Castiel has his arms pulled in close to his side, his shoulders hunched up by his ears as he shivers, and he simply waits for instructions from Dean.
Deans eyes dart over to the bed, back to Castiel and then he points with uneasy fingers to the mattress and then Castiel as well. “You should… because it’s dry, and I’ll get in too. Unless you don’t want me to! Jesus, that’s fine, I would be fine with that, totally your call…” his hands are gesturing madly and he’s stammering and he cannot shut up no matter how much he is begging his mouth to stop moving it just won’t “… because it doesn’t mean anything, I mean, of course I want you to be warm because we’re friends, you’re my friend, and I’m your friend and you’re cold and I’m hot… not hot, like wow he’s hot in a…” don’t say sexual don’t say sexual. Goddammit! “… I’m just warm because I’ve been inside and not outside like you. In the snow. And the cold. And the snow. Fuck!”
Castiel is listening to the insane tirade and really not understanding any of it. He didn’t need anymore than for Dean to point at the bed before he was already crawling in and getting under the covers. He trusts Dean and if Dean thinks this is a good idea, he agrees. He gets under the covers and it’s already slightly warm from when Dean was lying on it earlier and it feels so good he actually closes his eyes for a moment. He hears Dean take a few shaky breaths behind him and then the bed jostles as Dean gets in. Castiel has some of the bedclothes clutched in his hands, holding them close to his chest and he’s staring at Dean blankly.
“Just turn over!” Dean barks at him and Castiel blinks twice at the volume of Dean’s voice and then does so. Dean carefully slides up next to him and the warmth… it’s better than just the bed clothes were. Dean is warm and toasty against Castiel’s back and it feels so good after being cold. Castiel thinks that if it always feels this good to get warm after you’ve been cold, then being cold really isn’t as bad as he thought it was. Dean’s arm comes around Cas’ body and Cas wiggles a little bit backward to get closer to the heat. The bed smells like Dean; gun-oil, soap and a little bit of sweat. The pillow is a bit lumpy under his cheek so he pushes against it a bit with his chin, nuzzling his face in. He’s not nearly as cold now and while it feels wondrous to be getting warm again, he does miss the teeth chattering a little. It was so different. He silently soaks up the heat.
It’s not cuddling if you’re with another man, thinks Dean. It’s huddling. Like in the military or football. Cas was cold. Cas needed to warm up. End of story. Sure it had been slightly awkward for a couple of seconds there. It’s because they’re dudes. Manly dudes who kill lots of shit and hunt. Well, Dean’s a dude. Cas is an angel. In a dude’s body, but still an angel. And Cas is his friend and maybe even starting to become a part of Dean’s extended family. So he didn’t do anything for Cas that he wouldn’t do for Sam or Bobby. Except for getting into bed with Bobby because no thank you. He loves the man and would take a bullet in the head for him no question, but the idea of cuddling, fuck, huddling, it’s huddling, next to Bobby is so not cool. But it’s okay with Cas. Mostly because Cas seems to be okay with it.
Cas seems to be okay with it, Dean thinks again slowly. Cas didn’t protest or scoff or roll his eyeballs. Cas really trusts Dean. He just climbed into bed and when Dean climbed in after him, Cas had sorta nestled against Dean. That had been nice, actually.
It’s still kinda nice. Dean likes it.
Dean stares at the back of Cas’ head with all his dark hair. Dean likes being here with Cas.
Dean likes being here in bed with Cas. And that’s… wow.
“Thank you, Dean.” The low rumble of Cas’ voice interrupts his thoughts.
“Uh… you’re welcome?”
“I’m feeling much better now. I would have gotten warm eventually but this is much more pleasant.”
Dean turns that phrase over in his head: Cas would have gotten warm eventually.
“Huh?”
Castiel shifts and rolls over onto his back and looks at Dean expectantly. “My body would have repaired it’s temperature deficiency if given enough time for me to recover a portion of my powers. But I like this better.”
Their faces are only separated by inches. Dean’s breathing in the same air that Cas is. Their eyes are locked on each other’s and Dean thinks that even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to look away. He doesn’t want to look away. Dean’s arm is still around Cas, resting on the lower part of the angel’s chest and it rises and falls slightly as Cas breathes. Dean’s brain is currently processing the fact that he just stripped Cas down to his underthings and crawled into bed with him and is really liking it and it wasn’t explicitly necessary.
“Oh,” is all he says.
“You are very warm,” continues Castiel. “And I like the way you smell.”
Castiel is staring at him. It’s not just the color of his eyes that’s arresting. It’s the intensity behind them. He thinks that Cas would have the same intense stare if his eyes were green or brown or hazel. But now that Dean thinks about it, he likes blue the best. Dean’s not quite sure what the fuck is going on. A minute ago he was only thinking about warming Cas up and now he’s having thoughts. Thoughts about liking being in bed with Cas. About liking how Cas feels next to him. And Cas is just staring at Dean and saying Dean feels warm and he likes the way Dean smells and maybe that can just be put in the category of Weird Shit Cas Says Sometimes.
And maybe it can’t.
Castiel can see Dean’s eyes flickering back and forth as they gawk at each other and although he can’t definitively read Dean’s thoughts, Castiel is aware that something is going on in Dean’s mind, but he’s not sure what. All Castiel knows is he is very close to Dean, in his personal space, and Dean isn’t pulling away. Castiel likes it. He likes it a lot. He is glad that Dean did not leave him to warm up on his own. He meant exactly what he said. Dean feels very warm and Castiel likes the way Dean smells. Dean smells familiar and there’s something about being this close to Dean that makes Castiel’s body feel weird, in his chest and in his stomach. He likes that too. But he doesn’t quite know how to explain it in human words, so he doesn’t say it out loud. Although the feeling he gets right when he leaps into flight is very similar.
They’ve have long since passed the socially acceptable time for staring and have crossed into something else.
Fuck it, Dean thinks. He’s gonna go for it. He leans in toward Castiel.
“What are you doing?” Castiel’s tone is not sharp nor fearful, merely inquisitive.
“I’m going to kiss you. Unless you tell me not to.”
Dean gives him a second to protest, but all Castiel does is look down at Dean’s lips. Dean will take that as a yes.
Dean leans his head closer to Cas, finally having to break eye contact. At this distance they’re too close to be anything more than a blur to each other. Dean closes his eyes and pauses just as his lips are millimeters from Cas’. He thinks: don’t fuck this up, how do you kiss an angel, how do you kiss a guy, I really hope I don’t fuck this up, Cas smells like nighttime air, wow we’re really close.
It turns out Cas is the one that closes the minute distance between them, pressing his lips to Dean’s firmly.
As kisses go, it’s chaste. Dean clenches his fingers slightly and they press into Cas’ flesh on his chest. Cas makes a small, surprised sound, and then presses in closer which totally turns Dean on and he darts his tongue out and runs it across the seam of Cas’ lips. That earns him another small sound from Cas.
Dean pulls back and opens his eyes. Cas’ eyes are still focused on him. Dean wonders if Cas closed them or not.
“Uh, verdict?” Dean says nervously.
“I like kissing.”
Dean smiles at the simple, serious proclamation and huffs a little. “Me too.”
He’s just about to lean in again when he hears the key in the lock of the door. He barely has time to think Sam before the door is open and he can hear Sam’s deep voice.
“Dude, the Thai place is closed on Thursdays, what the fuck is that? So I got steak sandwiches from a steak and pizza joint and…” Sam’s looking down at the key and sliding it back in his pocket and he just now looks up and sees Dean.
In bed with Castiel.
“Jesus fuck!” He drops the bags and claps his hands over his eyes. “My eyes!”
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Dean stammers ridiculously. Because it wasn’t what it looks like five minutes ago but now? It’s totally what it looks like.
“I’m gonna be blind forever!”
“Has something happened to your eyes, Sam?”
“Dude! I was gone, like half an hour and you fucking knew I was coming back. Put a sock on the door, Jesus!” Sam’s got both hands over his eyes now.
“He had hypothermia!” Dean protests and scrambles out of bed.
“It’s sixty degrees outside!”
“No, he like flapped in from somewhere and he was freezing and I was warming him up!”
“I don’t want to hear anymore. Shut up. I don’t have enough hands to cover my ears.”
“I’m still wearing clothes,” Dean announces.
“I’m not opening my eyes to check!”
“Perhaps I should put my clothes back on?”
“Jesus!” Sam yells at Castiel’s question. He starts backing up carefully, not taking his giant paws off his face. “I’m going outside and I’m gonna count to 300 and when I get back, everyone better be dressed and vertical.”
Sam runs his shoulder into the corner of the door hard and lets out a quick hiss of pain, but doesn’t drop his hands as he eases out of the room. He finally drops one hand and gropes for the door, pulling it shut behind him.
“Never figured you for such a prude, Samantha!” Dean shouts at the closed door.
“One! Mississippi, two! Mississippi, three…”
Dean turns back to Castiel.
“Why would you put a sock on the door?”
Dean rubs the back of his neck and decides to ignore Cas’ question for now. “Wanna stay for dinner?”
“Yes.”
He has one more for his list.
Before he kissed Dean Winchester.
And now, after.
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas
Spoilers: Season 5
Warnings: None
Word Count:~4100
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: In which Castiel gets cold. Dean takes it upon himself to warm him up and possibly starts to realize a few things. Sam is traumatized for life.
Castiel is learning that his life has now become easily categorizable into “befores” and “afters.”
Before he started losing his powers.
After he started losing his powers.
The sense of having a before and after with regards to his power shift is not as jarring as it should be, for if he’s honest with himself, he had already started classifying his life into “before” and “after.”
Before Dean Winchester.
After Dean Winchester.
If he can ignore the gnawing despair he sometimes feel as his power slowly bleeds away in his shift from angel to human, and if he doesn’t allow the newly discovered emotion of fear to claw at him too deeply, he thinks that one of the most difficult things about the transition has been temperature regulation and consistency.
Although given the extreme variations in temperature across the globe, it really isn’t surprising that he has a hard time mastering it. As an angel he travelled from what the humans called scorching heat around the equator to what they classified as the painful cold of the poles and he really felt no difference.
Certainly not when he had no vessel. In his angelic form, temperature has no meaning.
When he was inhabiting a vessel, it did not take much for him to maintain a constant temperature. He hardly gave it a thought. But now he finds he needs to focus on it. It is a task that must be minded and not simply left to what passes for his subconscious.
It is also easily forgotten if he is more concerned with other things. Such as fighting demons.
Like the ones he was fighting moments earlier.
He had known the book would be guarded, but he truly had not expected more than two or three demons. Lower level demons at best. He expected it would be difficult, but not impossibly so.
The location was so remote and isolated, he had been unprepared for the five demons that had been stationed to guard the ancient text.
He belatedly realizes that he got blood on the fragile papyrus book clutched to his chest, but he does not have the energy to heal himself. He will need all his strength to get out of the building and then get off the desecrated ground. The building is covered in angelic sigils and runes, blocking him from teleporting out. The desecration of the soil around the structure also keeps him from using his powers.
He believes he is beginning to understand the human feelings of defeatism and despair. Getting in had been difficult. Killing the demons had been difficult. Getting out is going to be difficult as well.
It had occurred to him to ask Dean and Sam to join him as comrades in arms; ‘backup’ is the human term Dean uses. But the Winchesters were exhausted from their latest hunt and Castiel thought he could complete this task without assistance.
He believes he is also coming to be familiar with regret.
He still struggles with the human concept of time, so he’s not sure how long it takes him to find his way out of the building. The frigid night air blasting across his face is a surprise and it feels even colder where it strikes still wet blood oozing from his temple. Generally he has no opinions about the weather. It is never neither too hot nor too cold, it simply just is. But tonight, with his senses dulled by the sigils on the building and the desecrated ground, the utter white out conditions of the blizzard confuse his vision. Without his powers, he’s not sure which way to go, although he supposes it hardly matters. He need only pick a direction and stick to it. He will know as soon as he is free from desecrated ground; he will feel it. As soon as he is free, he can teleport.
To Dean.
And Sam, of course.
He tips his head against the onslaught of icy, wet snow and begins to walk.
***
Dean flips through the limited channel selection for the fourth time. It’s not like something will magically become appealing, he knows this. Years of channel surfing in random hotels has taught him this. But he still continues flickering through, pausing on each one shortly on the off chance that something will have changed.
Maybe he’s an optimist.
Either that or he’s just really, really bored. And lazy. Tough call.
He’s basically just killing time until Sam gets back with dinner. Their hunt was over a couple of days ago and they are just laying low, getting some rest and shut eye, looking for another case. Hanging out in sweatpants and ratty t-shirts, eating bad food and watching daytime tv until something pops. It’s not so bad, actually. It’s almost like a vacation.
He snorts. Winchester vacation. Which can only be enjoyed at cheap motels in piss-ass towns in the middle of nowhere. They definitely don’t make brochures for this.
He hears the tell-tale flapping of wings and rustling of feathers that always means the imminent arrival of Cas. And he might smile. A little.
Just a really tiny one.
It disappears immediately as he takes in the sight of Cas who is a wet, sodden lump on the floor. His trench-coat is soaked through, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. A puddle of water is congealing around the angel, soaking into the carpet. Bright red blood is trailing down Cas’ face, mixing in with the moisture and turning a watery pink before it drips down his neck and seeps into the normally pristine white shirt.
“Fuck, Cas.”
Dean springs off the bed and crouches beside Castiel. With shaking, jerking hands, Castiel reaches into his coat and pulls out the ancient text. It is miraculously dry. While he could not expend any energy to heal himself nor keep himself from the weather, he could not afford to let anything happen to the book. He holds it out to Dean. Dean frowns at it and takes it.
“What the fuck?”
“K-k-keep it,” Castiel stutters and has to force the last word out, “dry.”
Dean tosses it up on the table ignoring Castiel’s wince as he does. “Dry as the desert up there, now what the fuck happened to you.”
“D-d-demons. B-b-book.”
That’s actually enough for Dean and he nods in understanding. “Are you hurt? Did they whammy you?” He grabs Cas’ chin to tilt his head up so he can get a better look at his eyes.
“Fuck!” Dean exclaims. “You’re freezing!”
His precious burden of the book now safe, Castiel starts to huddle in on himself.
Dean forces Cas’ face up to meet his. “Are you hurt?”
“N-n-n…”
“I’ll take that as a no. Sit up.”
Cas tries to do as Dean tells him but he struggles to get from his prone position on the floor into a seated state.
“Can’t you whammy yourself dry?”
He wants to say he used up the last of his current resources getting to the motel. He’s not sure why it’s so hard for him to speak, he doesn’t understand what has happened to his body. It’s cold and uncomfortable, stiff and slightly painful. He has the uncontrollable urge to lay back down on the floor and curl in on himself until he can gather his strength and fix his body. He wants to say all this to Dean but all that comes out is a sort of ‘nrgle’ sound.
“Jesus, I can’t believe I’m actually gonna say this, but we gotta get you out of those wet clothes.” Dean actually rolls his eyes a bit at his words. He gets behind Cas and peels off the trench-coat and suit jacket together, dropping them immediately on the floor. As soon as Cas’ arms are free he crosses them over his chest, pulling his knees into his body.
“Don’t get too cosy like that, everything else has to come off.”
It seems like the most ridiculous idea to Castiel. He is cold. The last thing he wants to do is take off his clothes and be more exposed.
Dean takes one look at Castiel’s furrowed brow and confused eyes and he gets it. “You gotta get ‘em off before you can get warm.”
Castiel tries to pull at his tie but Dean just bats his hands out of the way and yanks at it himself, loosening it and then pulling it free.
“What the hell happened to you?” Dean is more or less talking to himself since he knows full well that Castiel can’t answer in his current state. “You went off and did some crazy ass shit by yourself, didn’t you?” He doesn’t expect an answer, nor does he wait for one before continuing his tirade as he unbuttons the sodden weight of Castiel’s shirt. “I fucking knew it. Can’t come get me and Sam, oh no, gotta go run off and play cowboys and indians by yourself. Honestly.”
Castiel does not see what either men who work with bovines or Native Americans have to do with this entire situation and it must be expressed on his face because Dean rolls his eyes again. Dean pushes the wet fabric off of the angels shoulders and helps Cas pull his arms free.
Dean rocks back on his heels and eyes Cas’ waistband like it’s speaking to him in foreign tongues. He reaches for it, stops, starts up again and then stops again. He clears his throat. He purses his lips. His fingers twitch. Dean’s eyes travel over the length of Castiel’s leg and then settle on his shoes.
Shoes are cool. He can totally do shoes. Socks are okay too.
Castiel watches as Dean tugs off his shoes and socks with a kind of strange fascination until he is distracted by his teeth chattering.
It’s the most amazing feeling. The vibrations of his jaw, the sound it makes in his head, the utter lack of control he has over it. He brings one shivering hand up to touch his chin and under the pressure of his fingertips, the chattering stops. He lets go so it will start up again. He likes it. It’s rhythmic and somewhat soothing. He can hear it through the inside of his ear canal and from the outer senses of his ear. It’s fascinating.
Castiel is not overly concerned about his state. He knows as soon as he regains his strength, these unfamiliar sensations will pass. As his body begins shivering he tries to track and categorize the feelings and tactile input.
Dean is clearing his throat again and Castiel looks at him expectantly. Dean points at Cas waistband, looks away and then looks back.
“You’re, uh… I’m gonna have to… because they’re wet too…”
Castiel frowns in consternation even as he shivers. Dean is blushing, a red flush creeping up his neck and traveling across his face. He’s looking at the corner of the motel room like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
“Just take your pants off!” Dean finally exclaims. Castiel tries to slip the button through the hole in the fabric but his fingertips are uncooperative and the fabric is recalcitrant.
“Motherfucker,” he hears Dean mumble and then Dean’s hands are at his waist and Dean is undoing the button quickly and unzipping Castiel’s pants, all at the same time he is muttering under his breath, “… Angel, angel, angel of the Lord, nothing awkward at all here…” Dean stands and beckons with his hands for Cas to hold his out. Which of course he does as soon as he recognizes the request. Dean’s hands are warm where they wrap around his cold fingers and Dean tugs him to his feet. Dean lets go for a moment to push Cas’ pants down and Castiel stares at the top of Dean’s head. Though he has no real frame of reference, he does think that Dean has a rather nice head.
“You gotta step your feet out of them,” Dean says as he turns his head up slightly and catches Cas staring down at him. The angel does as instructed jerkily stepping his feet out of the fabric, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder for balance as he does. Dean finally stands and ends up just staring at him weirdly. Castiel has his arms pulled in close to his side, his shoulders hunched up by his ears as he shivers, and he simply waits for instructions from Dean.
Deans eyes dart over to the bed, back to Castiel and then he points with uneasy fingers to the mattress and then Castiel as well. “You should… because it’s dry, and I’ll get in too. Unless you don’t want me to! Jesus, that’s fine, I would be fine with that, totally your call…” his hands are gesturing madly and he’s stammering and he cannot shut up no matter how much he is begging his mouth to stop moving it just won’t “… because it doesn’t mean anything, I mean, of course I want you to be warm because we’re friends, you’re my friend, and I’m your friend and you’re cold and I’m hot… not hot, like wow he’s hot in a…” don’t say sexual don’t say sexual. Goddammit! “… I’m just warm because I’ve been inside and not outside like you. In the snow. And the cold. And the snow. Fuck!”
Castiel is listening to the insane tirade and really not understanding any of it. He didn’t need anymore than for Dean to point at the bed before he was already crawling in and getting under the covers. He trusts Dean and if Dean thinks this is a good idea, he agrees. He gets under the covers and it’s already slightly warm from when Dean was lying on it earlier and it feels so good he actually closes his eyes for a moment. He hears Dean take a few shaky breaths behind him and then the bed jostles as Dean gets in. Castiel has some of the bedclothes clutched in his hands, holding them close to his chest and he’s staring at Dean blankly.
“Just turn over!” Dean barks at him and Castiel blinks twice at the volume of Dean’s voice and then does so. Dean carefully slides up next to him and the warmth… it’s better than just the bed clothes were. Dean is warm and toasty against Castiel’s back and it feels so good after being cold. Castiel thinks that if it always feels this good to get warm after you’ve been cold, then being cold really isn’t as bad as he thought it was. Dean’s arm comes around Cas’ body and Cas wiggles a little bit backward to get closer to the heat. The bed smells like Dean; gun-oil, soap and a little bit of sweat. The pillow is a bit lumpy under his cheek so he pushes against it a bit with his chin, nuzzling his face in. He’s not nearly as cold now and while it feels wondrous to be getting warm again, he does miss the teeth chattering a little. It was so different. He silently soaks up the heat.
It’s not cuddling if you’re with another man, thinks Dean. It’s huddling. Like in the military or football. Cas was cold. Cas needed to warm up. End of story. Sure it had been slightly awkward for a couple of seconds there. It’s because they’re dudes. Manly dudes who kill lots of shit and hunt. Well, Dean’s a dude. Cas is an angel. In a dude’s body, but still an angel. And Cas is his friend and maybe even starting to become a part of Dean’s extended family. So he didn’t do anything for Cas that he wouldn’t do for Sam or Bobby. Except for getting into bed with Bobby because no thank you. He loves the man and would take a bullet in the head for him no question, but the idea of cuddling, fuck, huddling, it’s huddling, next to Bobby is so not cool. But it’s okay with Cas. Mostly because Cas seems to be okay with it.
Cas seems to be okay with it, Dean thinks again slowly. Cas didn’t protest or scoff or roll his eyeballs. Cas really trusts Dean. He just climbed into bed and when Dean climbed in after him, Cas had sorta nestled against Dean. That had been nice, actually.
It’s still kinda nice. Dean likes it.
Dean stares at the back of Cas’ head with all his dark hair. Dean likes being here with Cas.
Dean likes being here in bed with Cas. And that’s… wow.
“Thank you, Dean.” The low rumble of Cas’ voice interrupts his thoughts.
“Uh… you’re welcome?”
“I’m feeling much better now. I would have gotten warm eventually but this is much more pleasant.”
Dean turns that phrase over in his head: Cas would have gotten warm eventually.
“Huh?”
Castiel shifts and rolls over onto his back and looks at Dean expectantly. “My body would have repaired it’s temperature deficiency if given enough time for me to recover a portion of my powers. But I like this better.”
Their faces are only separated by inches. Dean’s breathing in the same air that Cas is. Their eyes are locked on each other’s and Dean thinks that even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to look away. He doesn’t want to look away. Dean’s arm is still around Cas, resting on the lower part of the angel’s chest and it rises and falls slightly as Cas breathes. Dean’s brain is currently processing the fact that he just stripped Cas down to his underthings and crawled into bed with him and is really liking it and it wasn’t explicitly necessary.
“Oh,” is all he says.
“You are very warm,” continues Castiel. “And I like the way you smell.”
Castiel is staring at him. It’s not just the color of his eyes that’s arresting. It’s the intensity behind them. He thinks that Cas would have the same intense stare if his eyes were green or brown or hazel. But now that Dean thinks about it, he likes blue the best. Dean’s not quite sure what the fuck is going on. A minute ago he was only thinking about warming Cas up and now he’s having thoughts. Thoughts about liking being in bed with Cas. About liking how Cas feels next to him. And Cas is just staring at Dean and saying Dean feels warm and he likes the way Dean smells and maybe that can just be put in the category of Weird Shit Cas Says Sometimes.
And maybe it can’t.
Castiel can see Dean’s eyes flickering back and forth as they gawk at each other and although he can’t definitively read Dean’s thoughts, Castiel is aware that something is going on in Dean’s mind, but he’s not sure what. All Castiel knows is he is very close to Dean, in his personal space, and Dean isn’t pulling away. Castiel likes it. He likes it a lot. He is glad that Dean did not leave him to warm up on his own. He meant exactly what he said. Dean feels very warm and Castiel likes the way Dean smells. Dean smells familiar and there’s something about being this close to Dean that makes Castiel’s body feel weird, in his chest and in his stomach. He likes that too. But he doesn’t quite know how to explain it in human words, so he doesn’t say it out loud. Although the feeling he gets right when he leaps into flight is very similar.
They’ve have long since passed the socially acceptable time for staring and have crossed into something else.
Fuck it, Dean thinks. He’s gonna go for it. He leans in toward Castiel.
“What are you doing?” Castiel’s tone is not sharp nor fearful, merely inquisitive.
“I’m going to kiss you. Unless you tell me not to.”
Dean gives him a second to protest, but all Castiel does is look down at Dean’s lips. Dean will take that as a yes.
Dean leans his head closer to Cas, finally having to break eye contact. At this distance they’re too close to be anything more than a blur to each other. Dean closes his eyes and pauses just as his lips are millimeters from Cas’. He thinks: don’t fuck this up, how do you kiss an angel, how do you kiss a guy, I really hope I don’t fuck this up, Cas smells like nighttime air, wow we’re really close.
It turns out Cas is the one that closes the minute distance between them, pressing his lips to Dean’s firmly.
As kisses go, it’s chaste. Dean clenches his fingers slightly and they press into Cas’ flesh on his chest. Cas makes a small, surprised sound, and then presses in closer which totally turns Dean on and he darts his tongue out and runs it across the seam of Cas’ lips. That earns him another small sound from Cas.
Dean pulls back and opens his eyes. Cas’ eyes are still focused on him. Dean wonders if Cas closed them or not.
“Uh, verdict?” Dean says nervously.
“I like kissing.”
Dean smiles at the simple, serious proclamation and huffs a little. “Me too.”
He’s just about to lean in again when he hears the key in the lock of the door. He barely has time to think Sam before the door is open and he can hear Sam’s deep voice.
“Dude, the Thai place is closed on Thursdays, what the fuck is that? So I got steak sandwiches from a steak and pizza joint and…” Sam’s looking down at the key and sliding it back in his pocket and he just now looks up and sees Dean.
In bed with Castiel.
“Jesus fuck!” He drops the bags and claps his hands over his eyes. “My eyes!”
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Dean stammers ridiculously. Because it wasn’t what it looks like five minutes ago but now? It’s totally what it looks like.
“I’m gonna be blind forever!”
“Has something happened to your eyes, Sam?”
“Dude! I was gone, like half an hour and you fucking knew I was coming back. Put a sock on the door, Jesus!” Sam’s got both hands over his eyes now.
“He had hypothermia!” Dean protests and scrambles out of bed.
“It’s sixty degrees outside!”
“No, he like flapped in from somewhere and he was freezing and I was warming him up!”
“I don’t want to hear anymore. Shut up. I don’t have enough hands to cover my ears.”
“I’m still wearing clothes,” Dean announces.
“I’m not opening my eyes to check!”
“Perhaps I should put my clothes back on?”
“Jesus!” Sam yells at Castiel’s question. He starts backing up carefully, not taking his giant paws off his face. “I’m going outside and I’m gonna count to 300 and when I get back, everyone better be dressed and vertical.”
Sam runs his shoulder into the corner of the door hard and lets out a quick hiss of pain, but doesn’t drop his hands as he eases out of the room. He finally drops one hand and gropes for the door, pulling it shut behind him.
“Never figured you for such a prude, Samantha!” Dean shouts at the closed door.
“One! Mississippi, two! Mississippi, three…”
Dean turns back to Castiel.
“Why would you put a sock on the door?”
Dean rubs the back of his neck and decides to ignore Cas’ question for now. “Wanna stay for dinner?”
“Yes.”
He has one more for his list.
Before he kissed Dean Winchester.
And now, after.
