Pairings or Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Warnings: whump!Cas, first time kink
Word Count: 5191
Summary: Castiel is seriously injured and Dean has to deal with his feelings and the way he's been taking Cas for granted.
Author Notes: Fill for a prompt at the spnkinkmeme on tumblr.
The only thing Dean had seen wreck an angel was another angel.
At least, until today.
It's a giant fire bird that's been kidnapping pregnant women for its own sick feast, and according to Bobby's lore books, its only weakness is its eyes, and Dean and Sam can't get within twenty feet of the thing before their clothes catch on fire and they feel like melting. Lucky for them, Cas has no trouble ignoring the insane temperature of the fire bird, though it's a little ridiculous watching him fly at the thing while his trench coat is bursting into flames. Dean and Sam go for the women that haven't been eaten yet while Cas stabs out the first eye of the fire bird, causing a cry that vibrates through them all loud enough to make blood start pouring out their ears.
They've gotten the last of the women out and headed down the road to wait for the ambulance when Cas rips the second eye out of the bird's skull.
The bird screeches and the sound of it alone knocks Dean and Sam back several feet, landing on their asses in the cold dirt. Flames pour out of its eyes as its wings flap around frantically, and Dean sees one dark spot in the shape of an angel amidst the dying flames of the bird, reaching into its chest for the killing blow. The resulting blast bends trees backwards and incinerates most of the leaves, and by some great mercy, the two of them are far enough back that the flames and heat only make them feel like they're on fire for a second or two.
When the smoke clears, all that's left is ashes.
"Did it seriously explode?" Sam asks absently, rubbing at his face, but Dean barely hears him. He's staring at the pile of ash in the center of the clearing, through what's left of bent tree trunks, and searching for movement but finding none.
"Where's Cas?" he asks, voice quiet, and pushes himself onto his feet, ignoring the pain in his back from landing hard on the dirt. His skin feels like its burning after being in the sun too long despite it being one or two in the morning. He turns to Sam and grabs him by the arm, shaking him as he demands, "Are you okay? You're okay, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, but-- Dean it exploded. Was it supposed to do that?"
Sam's in some kind of shock, but for the most part, he's fine. Dean tugs him to his feet before heading straight for the pile of ash, looking for a trench coat, a head of black hair, something, anything.
The second he gets close, the smell of burnt flesh fills his nose and he panics.
"Cas," he calls out, diving at the ash and digging around. The beak is still in mostly one piece, and some of the leg bones are still sizzling, but between that, there's something solid. Solid and breathing and Dean feels his heart squeeze painfully. He pushes ash away and grabs Cas by the arm, easing him up into his arms as gently as he can. His face is black with soot, decorated by red where blood is leaking out of his nose, mouth and ears.
"Hey, hey, you okay? Cas, fuck, answer me, please," he hisses, shaking off as much ash as he can. Cas's trench coat is gone and the rest of his suit is in tatters, the skin underneath red and raw. "Goddamnit, Cas, talk to me, angel heal yourself, something."
"Dean," Cas gasps -- or at least, that's what Dean guesses he's trying to say, because all that comes out is a wheeze and a gurgle as more blood dribbles out of his mouth.
"Holy shit, is he okay?" Sam asks, slowly coming out of his shock to notice the angel his brother is cradling.
"Does he fucking look okay?" Dean snaps, regretting it instantly when Sam winces and looks like a puppy being tossed out into the snow. "Look, just-- help me get him up, we have to take him back to the car."
"Why isn't he angel healing?" Sam wonders, grabbing Cas by the other arm and helping hold him up as Dean stands, carrying the weight of him.
"I don't know. Can fire birds kill angels?"
"I didn't think anything could."
"Me either," Dean says quietly as they drag Cas, charred and still smoking, back to the Impala.
Sam drops them off at the motel to go raid a hospital for supplies. Dean carefully lays Cas on his bed, not bothering to care about the mess he's making by dragging the half-conscious angel across the carpet and leaving a dark trail of soot behind him. Cas groan-gurgles as Dean shoves pillows underneath his limbs, but Dean's good with burn care, and he has to get as much as he can elevated above his torso.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, just trust me, okay, trust me," he rambles as he works, wincing and hissing with Cas each time he makes a pained noise. In the light of the motel room, Dean can get a better look at his skin. It's still covered in dark ash, but underneath it's blistered and red and swollen. Normally that wouldn't be good news, but compared to being thoroughly roasted inside and out, Dean'll take it. Leave it to an angel to be at ground zero when a fire bird explodes and still make it out with second-degree burns.
"I'll be right back, don't move," Dean finds himself saying, though really, he doesn't know where the angel could go when he's whimpering every time he takes a breath. He runs to the bathroom and starts filling the tub with cold water, tossing every towel he can find into it. He runs a hand over his face and tries to calm down, but Cas may be dying in the other room, and he's not sure helping a couple of burns is really going to do much to stop it. He breathes in, long and deep, and tells himself to focus, concentrate on doing what he can now. He can bitch and whine about stuff later, and besides, it's not like it's Sam in the other room, possibly dying.
But it is Cas, his mind reminds him, and the panic sets in again.
The towels thoroughly damp, he rings them until they're damp but not dripping and runs back to the bed.
"This is going to possibly hurt. A lot," Dean warns before draping the first towel onto Cas's burns, and Cas jerks against the bed, but at least this time when he moans, there's no more blood pouring out of his mouth. Dean goes slow, covering both of Cas's arms and legs, then taking care to cover his stomach and his chest as gently as he can. By the time Dean is running back from the bathroom with the last of the hand towels for Cas's neck, Cas isn't moaning anymore, and Dean panics for a second.
"Dean," Cas answers, voice weak but steady. Dean folds over, hands on his knees as he lets out a shaky breath.
"Shit, man, you keep giving me heart attacks."
"My apologies," Cas coughs, and Dean stands back up, trying to fight back a laugh.
"Are you going to be okay?"
"I am... having trouble healing. But I should be fine, though it may take longer than normal," Cas explains, wincing each time he has to stop and take a breath. Dean leans over the bed and carefully wraps the wet hand towel around Cas's neck, trying to ignore the eyes boring into his face.
"Um, is this helping? Or should I not bother, or..." Dean asks, pulling away and scratching at his neck awkwardly.
"No, it feels nice. Thank you, Dean."
Dean has trouble meeting Cas's eyes and just shrugs and collapses into the chair by the bed, letting out a heavy sigh and running a hand through his hair.
"Yeah, no problem, Cas," he mumbles, kicking off his shoes and staring at the ash covering the floor.
"Dean, it's been five days. Is he dying? Did we kill him?" Sam asks, grabbing at his jacket and swinging him around. They're in the motel parking lot, loitering by the Impala, but Dean can't bring himself to go back to the room yet. Dean grunts as he's forcibly turned around, nearly dropping his hamburger. They haven't left the town, even though the fire bird problem was quite thoroughly extinguished when Cas made the thing explode, and Dean has been spending most of his time out eating, leaving Sam stuck in the room with the still-injured angel.
"He said he'd be fine," Dean grumbles, taking a bite of his burger, but even he doesn't believe it.
"Dude. His skin is still all red and bubbly. Shouldn't we take him to a hospital? Or, I don't know, something other than leaving him covered in wet towels on the hotel bed?"
Sam is doing that annoying thing where he talks sense again, and Dean would much prefer to pretend everything is okay and focus on his food, but Sam's not going to let it go.
"Look, Sammy, what good would taking him to a hospital do? He's got a human body, but he isn't human, okay. They can't help him anymore than we can, and at least if we keep an eye on him ourselves, we know Raphael's people can't find him," Dean says through a mouthful of beef. Sam blinks and makes a face, which only makes Dean more irritated. "What? Why are you looking at me funny?"
"No, it's just I-- I hadn't thought about Raphael," Sam says, sounding impressed.
"What? Is that weird?"
"No, no," Sam shakes his head, giving Dean a thoughtful look, "You're really thinking about Cas. I thought you were just drowning your boredom in food, but you're actually worried, aren't you?"
Sam starts to smirk and Dean grimaces, swallowing the last of his burger angrily.
"I promise I won't tell," Sam teases, and Dean punches him hard in the arm.
"I said shut up," he grunts again, only because he can't think of anything else to say that won't give away how truly worried he is.
Since the first day he brought Cas, blistered and bleeding, back to the hotel, Dean hasn't been able to make himself stay in the room with him, at least not when he's awake. He's spent the last few days coming back late at night, staying out at bars until closing, only to sleep in the chair for a few uncomfortable hours before slipping back out before Sam can guilt him into staying with Cas for once.
But after five days and the conversation with Sam in the parking lot, he finally convinces himself to spend more than five minutes awake in the same room with him.
"Uh, hey, Cas," he says awkwardly, shutting the door behind him softly. He spots Sam, already asleep in his bed, as he steals a glance at the clock and sees it's close to midnight.
Cas is still on his bed, where he's been laying for almost a week now, but he looks a bit better than when he'd first been dropped there. He's shifted up, leaning against the headboard with most of the pillows piled behind him. His clothes are still in tatters, and he's got quite a bit of ash on him despite the constant towel baths, but Dean gets a good look at how red and blistered his skin is underneath and he forgets about the soot and the ripped remains of Cas's suit. The skin is starting to heal, but it's still raw and almost painful just to look at.
"Hello, Dean," Cas greets, smiling, grabbing the remote beside him and clicking off the television. His face is the least blistered, though it looks like he has a really horrible sunburn. Cas has never been good at conversation, and he lets the silence hang, waiting patiently for Dean to speak.
"Why're you still all red, dude? I thought you said you'd be fine," Dean coughs, sliding into the chair by the bed.
"My internal organs needed more attention than my epidermis. I'm feeling much better, though, so I imagine my skin should be fine within a day or two," Cas explains easily, hands folded over his stomach. Sam's told Dean that Cas has gotten up and moved around once or twice, so Dean isn't surprised that he doesn't look to be in pain anymore, which is a relief.
"Why's this taking so long, anyway? Normally you fix yourself up in a second," Dean points out, trying to ignore the relief flooding his chest from Cas's answer.
"The fire bird is a very old, very powerful creature, Dean. It's not surprising that its magic would be strong enough to dampen my power for a short period of time," Cas tells him casually, even managing a small shrug.
Dean feels guilt and irritation swirling around in his gut, replacing the relief in a flash, and can't stop his words as they tumble out.
"Short period of time? Cas, you've been down here with us for a week, most of that sitting around like overcooked meat. What about your civil war? How can you be so calm about wasting all this time?"
He's starting to get angry, not with Cas, but with himself, because he knows he's being selfish. He's always been selfish with Cas. Bobby may have called him out on it when he and Sam took him for granted, and Cas has given him a piece of his mind, too, but he's never told him to stop, so Dean's never really tried. But it's killed Cas twice and gotten him beaten and bloody too many times to count, and Dean's not sure God will bring him back again.
"Dean, helping you and Sam isn't a waste of time--"
"It is. We could've, I don't know, killed the giant flaming chicken with some firehoses or something. We didn't need you, Cas, we're big boys, we can do fine on our own," Dean hisses, trying his best to keep his voice from waking Sam, and Cas tilts his head at him, not understanding where the anger is coming from.
"Dean, I've already told you, I would much rather be here--"
"Why?" Dean blurts, and the word is out before he can do anything about it, so he slumps back in the chair and asks again, "Why would you rather be here with a dick like me?"
Cas stares at him, saying nothing, for a long time. Dean keeps his eyes on his knees, fiddling absently with straying threads and picking at stains, unable to look up with the question hanging in the air. It takes a few minutes before Cas speaks up again, but Dean still can't bring himself to look up.
"You are... a good friend, Dean. I don't have many other friends, but you are likely the closest one I have."
Dean's hand freezes on his knee and his heart starts beating fast, which is stupid because all Cas said was friend, and it's not like he's admitted that their "profound bond" or whatever is something he'd like to expand upon and maybe possibly make physical or anything, and--
Dean takes a moment to take a breath and tell his brain to shut up before finally bringing his head up to meet Cas' eyes with his own.
"So do you usually hog your friend's beds or is that just some special treatment for me? This chair has been pretty uncomfortable, dude," he shrugs. Whether or not he's successful at faking nonchalance, Cas doesn't say anything, silently shuffling over on the bed to make room. Dean hides a laugh behind his hand and pushes out of the chair, sliding onto the bed while lazily kicking off his shoes.
He doesn't try to get under the blankets or steal any of the pillows for fear of jostling Cas too much, but Cas slides him one of the pillows anyway and he grins into it.
"Good night, Dean."
Dean wakes up close to one in the afternoon when Sam's finally had enough of waiting and starts tossing things at him. He finally rolls over after Sam hits him in the face with his toiletries kit.
"Mmrgh," he mumbles.
"Dude, get up already," Sam nags, halfway between amused and impatient. He's sitting at the table on the other side of the room, laptop open and already looking for a new case--being stuck in one place for so long has made both of them itchy for signs of something to pop up, but the week has been spectacularly boring aside from Dean's internal drama.
Dean pushes up from the bed and stares at the empty spot beside him for a few seconds until it finally registers that Cas is gone.
"Where's Cas?" he asks immediately, staring at Sam. Sam meets his gaze and shrugs.
"You were sleeping back in your bed when I woke up, so I thought you'd kicked him out or he'd gotten better and flown off or something."
Dean feels panic for a few terrifying seconds before realizing that if Cas is gone, he's probably perfectly fine. Raphael's goons wouldn't be able to whisk him away without a fight, and that would've woken them up, and Cas was well on his way to being fully healed, so it's not like he disappeared to go die in a place where Dean wouldn't have to bury him or something.
Anger quickly replaces the panic as he pushes off the bed, stomps over to the table and grabs his phone.
"What are you--" Sam asks, but Dean glares at him when it goes straight to voicemail.
"Cas, you sonuvabitch, pick up your damn phone," he shouts before smashing the end call button. Sam is staring at him weird, but he doesn't want to think about what his brother is probably realizing and grabs the keys, storming out of the hotel room to go for a drive.
Whenever he gets behind the wheel, Dean would love to just drive until there's no road left, but Sam's back at the hotel and he doesn't want to get lost, so he only drives about an hour out, pulling off of the highway at one of those sightseeing spots. He follows the road until it stops, widening out into a parking lot overlooking a bunch of trees and not much else. He steps out of the car and walks to the fence, glaring at the scenery.
His cell phone going off startles him bad enough that he jumps away from the fence, and he immediately feels embarrassed, but there's no one else around, so he grunts and digs into his pocket for his phone.
"What," he grumbles, seeing the caller ID is Sam.
"Dean, where are you?" Cas asks, and Dean blinks, confused.
"Cas? Why are you--"
"Tell me where you are," Cas repeats.
Dean does, only to hear the sound of his phone disconnecting the next second. He's extremely tempted to chuck the thing down into the trees out of frustration, but the soft flutter of wings makes him turn around instead.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to call you, Dean. My phone was destroyed, and Sam only a few moments ago explained--" Cas is saying, but Dean isn't really listening. The first thing he notices is Cas's skin, no longer red and swollen and covered in burn blisters, but clean and tan and completely healed. The next thing he notices is Cas has gotten a new suit and a new trench coat.
It takes him a second to realize Cas disappeared and gave him his fifth mini-heart attack of the week to go clothes shopping.
"Oh, you asshole," Dean grunts, closing the distance between them in three quick strides and grabbing Cas's face in his hands, holding him still as he leans forward and slams their mouths together.
It isn't really a kiss so much as a mashing of lips, because Dean is too inept to explain what he wants and really didn't think this through and Cas is too startled to really do much but stand there, frozen, eyes wide while trying to focus on Dean's face. Dean pulls back after a few seconds of desperate mouth pressing, leaving his hands where they are, and sighs.
"Pizza man, Cas. Pizza man."
Hit with sudden understanding, Cas surges forward, hands finally lifting from his sides to slide up Dean's neck and brush against his jaw as his mouth slides smoothly against Dean's, lips soft and gentle, pressing his tongue forward. Dean opens his lips, welcoming, and Cas apparently did learn a lot from the pizza man, because he moves his lips and his tongue like an expert, dragging against the inside of Dean's mouth just the right way and making him groan into the kiss.
Cas walks them forward until Dean's back hits the Impala and his lips curl up into a smile and he starts to laugh, tickling Cas's face enough to have him pull away.
"I'm glad you learned something from that porno, dude, but if you start spanking me, we are going to have a problem."
Cas regards him silently for a moment and tilts his head.
"How do you know you'll have a problem with something you haven't tried yet?"
Cas is already halfway out of his suit and Dean is shirtless and working on his belt next when he realizes his hands are shaking. He stops and watches as Cas worms his way out of his pants before he notices Dean's frozen above him.
He doesn't say anything, just tilting his head, waiting for what Dean will do next.
"Are you sure?" Dean asks, and Cas's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "I mean, last night, you said I was your friend. I'm not trying to-- I don't want to push you, if this isn't--"
He stops and glares down at Cas's chest, trying to figure out the words he wants to use in his head. He knows what he wants to say, but he's terrified that actually saying it will end with him embarrassed and Cas disappearing again, and it takes him a few minutes of silent staring to work out how to say it out loud. Lucky for him, Cas has always had a scary amount of patience when it comes to Dean Winchester.
"Look, I think I'm in love with you or something stupid like that, and I want you, not just this," he pauses to gesture at the backseat of the Impala and their state of undress, "and if that's not what you want, you better tell me now, or I'm going to end up taking and taking until you're sick of me, and I've done enough of that already."
Cas stays still for a moment before nodding, reaching up a hand into Dean's hair. Dean grabs it and keeps it still, heart beating fast enough to pop out of his chest any second now.
"Are you sure--" he starts to ask, but Cas cuts him off with a glare and a hard pull, all angel strength, that leaves his mouth an inch away from Cas's.
"I'm not an idiot, Dean, I know what I want," Cas says, voice rough, and it shakes through Dean where their chests are connected as Cas closes the distance and kisses him soft and slow.
Dean wastes no time getting out of the rest of his clothing and leaning into the front seat, grabbing hand lotion and condoms from the glove box. When Cas gives him a look, he shrugs.
"Sammy's a whiny bitch when his hands get dry, and, uh, always be prepared?" he offers in explanation. Cas seems satisfied because he slips out of his boxers, dropping them lazily into the front seat, and opens his legs to Dean, making Dean's cock--already very, very hard--jerk against his thigh in need.
"Shit, Cas," he breathes, and Cas responds by wrapping his legs around Dean's waist and pulling him close, their cocks rubbing against each other. Dean laughs and tries to hold himself steady, ripping one of the condoms open. "You gotta give me a second here, or I'm going to blow my load before we even get to the fun stuff."
Cas makes an impatient noise, watching closely while Dean slides the condom on and spreads lotion on his fingers. Dean takes a breath and drags a thumb from the base of Cas's cock, down his sac, towards his hole, making his intentions clear, and Cas just nods, ready and waiting. Dean presses into the tight heat and waits for sounds or looks of discomfort, but Cas is silent and almost serene looking as he waits for Dean to continue.
"Doesn't... Doesn't that hurt?"
"I was burnt to a crisp by a fire bird earlier this week, Dean. I can handle this," Cas says, legs around Dean's waist squeezing and encouraging him, and Dean smiles. He goes gentle anyway, even if Cas is clearly not bothered by this level of discomfort. He works in two fingers, then three, spreading slowly but already getting impatient himself. He works one hand around Cas's cock, experimenting to see what he likes, and smiling when Cas's eyes widen before slamming shut as his hand squeezes around the head.
"Dean," he gasps, hand reaching around Dean's wrist and holding him still, his face warring between terror at the new sensation and desperately wanting more. It breaks Dean's patience into a thousand pieces and he pulls his hands away, grabbing the lotion and making sure his cock is slicked.
He gives no warning aside from a desperate grunt as he lines up their hips and presses forward, but Cas doesn't need one. He rolls his hips instinctively, pushing down further onto Dean's dick, and Dean bites off a groan. Cas is tight and hot and with every movement, he pulls Dean deeper, and it's all Dean can do to stop himself from losing it already. He waits until he's all the way inside, his hips pushed up against Cas's ass, before grabbing Cas's waist with one hand and pressing into the leather by his head with the other. Cas stares up at him, eyes wide and blue, and nods, letting out a shaky breath.
Dean doesn't start slow. He probably should, he thinks absently, seeing as this is their first time together and Cas's first time ever, but he can't, not when he wants this so bad and Cas will let him take it however he wants.
Cas breathes out in short, clipped pants, groaning when Dean hits particularly deep, and tries to keep his hands digging into Dean's shoulders, but Dean's skin is already slick with sweat and his fingers slip and slide down his arms. The feel of Cas's cool skin dragging over his, occasionally grabbing right on the mark where Cas once gripped him tight and pulled him from hell, makes him shiver. The frantic pace of his hips stutters as he shakes, making Cas roll his head back into the leather and fingers press harder into Dean's skin.
"Fuck fuck fuck," Dean groans, arm dropping down to grab the other side of Cas's waist as his forehead presses into the seat beside Cas's ear.
Cas doesn't say a thing, reaching his hands upward and wrapping them around Dean's shoulders, lifting his hips as Dean's thrusts get faster.
Dean wishes they had more room, because the Impala, as much as he loves her, isn't the most spacious place, and he'd love to move around and show Cas more than one way they could do this. But then he remembers that he can do this again, that he can show Cas as much as he wants, and his balls tighten as he grinds down into Cas.
It's a little pathetic how close he is, and they haven't even been at this for ten minutes, but pressing into Cas over and over feels so good that he can barely focus. He finally starts to slow down, a sign that he's got maybe a minute or two before he loses it, and Cas makes a discontented noise into his shoulder.
"Nn-- what is it?" Dean breathes into his neck, rocking the two of them against the leather. He can hear the car rocking with them and he smiles into Cas's skin, glad that it's just the two of them here in this clearing just off the highway, but not really caring if the whole world could see.
"You're slowing down," Cas pouts, and Dean wants to explain, but the legs around his waist are squeezing and pulling him in closer and his mouth stops working temporarily as he comes, seeing stars behind his closed eyelids. His hips roll slowly against Cas's ass, pumping out the last of him, as he makes desperate little moans which he will later deny ever happened. His entire body shakes and shivers, and he's grateful he's not standing up, because he doubts his legs or arms could support him at the moment.
"Dean," Cas hisses, and Dean comes back to himself in time to feel Cas lifting one of Dean's hands off of his hip bone and placing it on his straining dick.
"Oh, sorry," Dean mumbles sheepishly into Cas's skin.
His hand tightens and squeezes, kneading the head of Cas's cock with his thumb, as he presses grateful kisses up Cas's neck. Cas starts to make irritated whining noises, Dean's fist working around his cock in a steady rhythm, until he loses the last of his patience and starts thrusting into Dean's fingers at his own pace. It doesn't take long before he's grunting and digging his hands into Dean's back, spilling come all over Dean's hand and his own stomach.
Dean finds Cas's mouth and presses a kiss to it, Cas making an appreciative noise as his lips spread open to let Dean's tongue lazily find its way inside.
Comfortable as he is, Dean pulls away to dispose of the condom and clean Cas's come with the closest thing he can grab, which happens to be his shirt. He tosses the shirt back on the floor of the car, making a mental note to find a laundromat before leaving town, and collapses back on top of Cas, the two of them squished and naked but comfortable in the backseat.
Cas suddenly makes a frustrated noise, just as Dean is starting to nod off, and Dean lets out a grunt that's supposed to mean, What is it?
"I didn't get a chance to slap your rear," Cas says seriously and Dean sits up to stare at him.
"Okay, first of all, no more porn for you," Dean laughs after a second, falling back onto Cas's chest, "And second, maybe next time."