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for diefirst
Somebody's Saviour
He hasn't mentioned that he stopped off to put an angry spirit out of its misery on the way back from his two-day mini-roadtrip. He doesn't mention it because he doesn't want Cas to ask him why they didn't go together. Dean knows the answer will upset the other man, so instead he's bringing back supplies for what's going to be more freedom for Cas and some time they can use to look over the books he's picked up. He hasn't told Cas just how many libraries he's scoured since the wings appeared, but that's not important anyway. What's important is that he needs the answer.

When he steps foot through the door it's as he's slipping his cell back into his pocket. As much as he's not going to say it where anyone else can see or hear it, he's missed Cas too. But that much is obvious in the smile he's wearing as he sets his sights on the other man.

"Did I ever play you that song by Aerosmith?" He knows Cas didn't understand his reference from before, but he can probably change that by digging out the cassette he buried somewhere at the back of his collection.

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"You uh..." What he's going for is the reassurance that Cas doesn't have to do this. Not just because he thinks he should. But when his fingers are back on the feathers he can't finish his sentence. He can't get over how they feel despite the obvious wounds they've sustained in Cas's time as an angel. It's what he expects to feel when he touches a feather, and at the same time nothing at all like it. What he does realize is that he'd be happy brushing his fingers down the edges for a while and his plans are only workable until it gets light again. Mainly because they have a lot of road to cover before they're in a place secluded enough for Cas to have the freedom he wants.

Despite the slight tensing up that comes with the contact, Castiel does his best to relax into it. He looks back down toward Dean's fingers again, pulling own hand free and settling back. Without looking away from Dean's hand, he lifts his other wing, both now settling over his shoulders, mindful of blanketing them too much.

"Our Garrison was strong. Far stronger than anyone believed we would be. But we worked in an entirely different way to most of the others." He doesn't look back as he speaks, and instead focuses on a darker patch of feathers on the underside of one of his wings. "I was better at strategizing than actual battle. Some of our superiors believed we were wrong in our methods and aimed to try and retrain us to become more focused on the fight than the battle itself. It didn't work as well as they'd hoped." It's then that he actually brushes at the feathers there to explain just what he's trying to say. Beneath the mess there's a stab wound that's long since healed, but still scarred. A wound caused by one of the other angels that's going to stay with him, permanently.

"Retraining." He doesn't need that part clarified once he sees the wound. He doesn't think when his own fingers brush over the very same wound. It's not so much curiosity now as comfort. And thinly veiled anger. It's nothing out of the ordinary. He doesn't like the thought of anyone hurting Cas, even if this was before when he was an angel. It's the same raw rage that boils up from his chest. His fingertips are soft when they explore around the wound, careful not to push his luck. He doesn't know what the equivalent is on his own body. He knows there isn't a scar Cas hasn't seen.

"It was an accident." His tone shows just what he thinks of that excuse. Each patch of darkened feathers tells a similar story, and there's very few that he's willing to share. But there's one that he's proud to carry, and it's that he turns his attention to next. Taking ahold of Dean's wrist, he lifts his entire wing clear from the bed, pressing Dean's hand to the darkest feathers he has; some almost bare, and the rest half gone. He manages a smile though when he runs his own fingers over their remains.

"It takes a great deal to heal after the effects of Hellfire too. But I'm glad to have these ones, considering what it gave me afterwards." They're the scars he gained during the siege on Hell. Despite the damage, it meant Dean could be freed. That's, ultimately, what makes him proud to have them.

"That's from Hell?" It's all he says before he presses his palm up against the patch as though he can fix it. He knows it's way too late for that but it doesn't stop his palm from staying there. He doesn't work his fingers too hard over the feathers that are still there, his other hand automatically resting at Cas's hip to keep him where he is. He's free of all the scars he brought back from Hell thanks to the man on his lap. But he does have the one that's the most important now still visible on his arm.

He nods, just a little. "It was more than worth it. So before you even consider feeling guilty about any of it, remember that if things hadn't gone the way they did, we would have never met. And...I don't care how selfish it may be. I wouldn't change a thing that's happened." The worst part being that he really wouldn't. If Dean hadn't been 'The Righteous Man', Castiel knows they'd never have had a reason to meet, and he'd still be nothing more than a mindless soldier.

"You ever thought about..." He trails off there, not really sure what he's trying to say. Or how to say it. The whole thing is still huge to him, and the fact he doesn't know how things are going to turn out makes it that much harder.

"I dunno. Just kinda lucky it was you and me." Because he knows this wouldn't have happened otherwise.

"I think about a lot of things, Dean. You may need to narrow it down." He drops both of his hands back to the bed, both resting above Dean's shoulders. It's all the support he needs to lean forward, face inches away from the other man. He lets his wings hang loosely across the bed now, not caring enough to fold them back in. Not when the alternative involves getting closer to Dean again.

"I'm not sure I would have cared about anyone else even half as much as I care about you."

"How do you know? I wasn't exactly the nicest guy to be around." And he knows he's still not, but the issues he had with Cas are gone now too. He still feels the same way about the rest of the dicks calling themselves angels. That isn't going to change. He still can't imagine his life any different though. Apocalypse looming and all. He isn't quite sure where he'd be if it wasn't for this.

"You have to remember, Dean, that when I first met you, I knew just how important you would be in this battle. I could see into your soul, and no matter how much you may try to convince yourself otherwise, you've always been a good man. You're incapable of being anything but." He still doesn't move an inch, despite just how little effort it'd take to close the rest of the distance between them. "You survived your time in Hell and you still continue to fight for what you believe in. There are very few others like you out there. Why would I ever care about another person as much as I care about you? There's no one else like you out there."

He wants to say more but he knows better than that. Despite his constant complaints about it, he doesn't mind talking to Cas. He doesn't like talking about his feelings but that's all on him. It's not Cas, and if he's being honest, the other man is one of the very few people who isn't the problem. But he's still completely naked and turned on. Now isn't the time for talking. Not when they could be doing other things. Fun things.

It's not long before a laugh escapes him, born from the fact he knows Dean a little too well. He knows exactly what's on the mans mind, and it's for that reason he pulls his attention back toward trying to make the other man feel good. He starts to work a path across Dean's jaw, nipping slightly as his skin, only to follow each one up with a kiss or a swipe of tongue. He makes his way down his neck and to the center of his chest. Only once he's pressed a kiss over his heart does he stop again, reaching blindly for the bottle that lies ignored somewhere beside them.

If he didn't know for sure that Cas's Grace had gone, he'd swear the guy was looking into his head. He rewards Cas with a groan simply for knowing what's due to come next. Things have been just as hard as always on the both of them and it's knowing he'll get some sort of release from this, from Cas, that he smiles. He doesn't need to say anything to give the other man confirmation that this is exactly what's on his mind. And whether Cas knows it or not, there's something in his eyes nobody else has seen before.

As soon as he manages to find the tube, Castiel sits back up again, pulling over one of Dean's hands and holding it between them once more. He makes a point of making sure it's palm upwards, which helps when he finally opens the lid and squeezes some of the lube onto them. Smiling back at Dean, he takes his time to spread the gel over his fingers, before wiping one of his hands clean. The other will come in handy later.

"I think I learned what you meant." He ducks forward, another kiss being given as he raises his hips clear for what he knows will be coming soon. "I don't want you to... To fuck me any more."

"I haven't fucked you in a long time, Cas." And he has no intention of going back there. When he'd tried to explain the difference he was already past the point of return. He'd already shared too much with Cas to want anything less. And if he wasn't well aware of what's expected of him now he might make a smartass comment about being turned into a sappy little bitch, but Cas is waiting. 

The slicked up fingers don't waste a drop anywhere before they're exactly where they both want them, and it's not until he's pressed the fingertip of one against Cas's ass that he stops. There's no teasing involved now despite his lack of movement. All he wants is to watch Cas's expression when he finally does increase the pressure enough for that fingertip to slide inside the other man.

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