In Your Head, In Your Mouth

Title: In Your Head, In Your Mouth
Author:
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warning: Spoilers for Heaven and Hell
Word Count: 2700
Disclaimer: Kripke. Not me.
Rating: Adult
Summary: No nightmares. Not this night.
Notes: Takes place in the All Souls and Angels universe. Thank you to for beta.

Day 1: Body image.

You missed when time and life shook hands and said goodbye,
When the earth folded in on itself,
And said “Good luck, for your sake I hope heaven and hell
Are really there, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Sam slept soundly in the other bed, but Dean was awake when Castiel joined him. He had planned to watch Dean sleep and nothing more–perhaps drive away the nightmares that were sure to come–but it was too late to leave once Dean had seen him, so he simply sat on the bed and waited for the anger.

The anger did not come. Dean’s voice was soft when he said, “Castiel?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Can you take me somewhere?”

He turned to look at Dean. “Where do you wish to go?”

“Away. I don’t care where. Someplace that isn’t here.”

Castiel slowly nodded. “Very well.” He put the body’s hand on Dean’s forehead and took him away from the dingy hotel room and the sleeping Sam.

He took Dean to a beach. He thought it might be South Carolina, or maybe Virginia–the important thing was it was somewhere they could watch the sun come up if they stayed all night. He hoped they would. He thought he would like to see a sunrise with Dean.

Dean pulled off his boots and socks, so Castiel did the same. The sand felt cold under the body’s feet. He thought he could feel each individual grain, as innumerable as the stars in the sky.

They did not talk. They walked.

Finally Dean spoke. “I told Sam. I told him . . . what I did in Hell.”

Castiel looked at him. “Did it help?”

“No,” Dean said with a startled laugh, and repeated soberly, “No.”

“Did you desire it to?”

“Yeah. I guess. I hoped it would. I wanted Sam to–I don’t know, I wanted him to understand. I wanted him to–maybe I just wanted it out in the open.”

Castiel nodded as he watched the body’s pale feet walk on the dark sand. “Confession helps.”

“But that’s the thing,” Dean said, his voice rough. “It didn’t help. It hasn’t helped. Sam can hardly look at me. He talks to me like I’m fuckin’ breakable, and I’m not breakable, Castiel. I’m not breakable.”

There was something in Dean’s face that Castiel did not recognize. It confused and frightened him, and it seemed to him that Dean’s brightness was dimmed. “Do you desire comfort?”

Dean’s eyes glistened and he made that dry, startled laugh again. “Yeah,” he said. “Of course I do. Are you offering?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, mild.

Dean walked, his head down and his shoulders hunched. “I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I? We are friends. Friends comfort each other.”

“Because–” Dean sighed and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Because of Anna.”

Castiel looked out at the ocean, as dark as the sky above except where the moon shimmered on the water and where foam hissed and broke. “I know.”

Dean stopped walking. “You know?”

“I smelled you on her.” Leather and fresh water and pine. It had lingered on the vessel’s skin for days after he made love to Dean.

“Oh,” Dean said, “oh, God. Cas. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” He was missing something in the subtleties here, he knew. Dean had that frustrated look again. “Dean, I am not your lover.”

“Castiel,” Dean said, “yeah, you kinda are.”

Castiel considered. That feeling when Anna had kissed Dean . . . He supposed it was jealousy. “I do not expect to be your only lover, then.”

Dean ran his hand over his face. “Let’s sit down a while. I’m more tired than I thought.”

“Very well,” Castiel said and lowered himself onto the sand. Dean took longer, first taking off his leather jacket and spreading it out, lining against the sand. He dropped his shoes onto the sand and pulled up his legs, his arms around his knees.

“Cold out here,” Dean said, shivering, and he smiled a small amount when Castiel produced two woolly blankets: one to sit on and one to sit under. “How’d you do that?”

Castiel shrugged. “I just ask.” He spread the first blanket and when Dean was comfortable, spread the second over them. The warmth was welcome after the chilly night air. Dean was still shivering, so Castiel put an arm around him.

Dean chuckled again. “Uriel said you like me. He said it’s a weakness.”

“Uriel thinks many things are a weakness.”

“He must be fun on a Saturday night.”

Castiel considered this. “No, he is not much fun on any night.”

Dean laughed. “Cas, sometimes I say stuff just to say stuff. It doesn’t always mean what it sounds like.”

“Oh,” Castiel said.

“It’s okay. I keep forgetting how literal you are. You’re like a kid.” Dean put a hand on Castiel’s cheek and gently turned him to the moonlight. “Looks like you didn’t get too bruised.”

“The body is protected by my energy. I heal quickly.”

“I wondered how that worked.” He was quiet, touching the body’s neck. Castiel blinked slowly, warmed by his hand. “Could he really have killed you?”

“Yes,” Castiel said and Dean shivered and moved closer to him. “He could have killed the vessel, which would have made things very complicated, and it’s quite probable he could have done worse things to me.”

“Tortured you?” Dean whispered.

“Not on the earthly plane.”

“Oh, God, Castiel,” Dean said again, and Castiel didn’t like that note of despair in his voice. He held Dean, cheek against his hair, and patted his back.

“It did not happen,” he said softly. “Do not fear.”

“But it could have. It almost did.”

“But,” Castiel said, “you came and saved me. And here we are. And doesn’t the air smell wonderful here?”

“Yeah,” Dean said against his neck, “it does smell good. We’ve never spent enough time around beaches.”

“I like them,” Castiel said. “I like the power. It’s so quiet and benign right now, but I can’t ignore the pull of the waves.” He moved the hand to Dean’s chest, where he could feel Dean’s heart beating through his t-shirt.

“Wait until the storms start,” Dean said and sighed, easing against him.

“I know. I have seen them.” He stroked Dean’s back, watching the waves. “Have you ever been witness to a birth, Dean?”

“No.”

“I have seen them. There’s a lot of blood and weeping, just like in war. Creation and destruction are not all that different.”

Dean’s breath shook as he inhaled and exhaled. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“Only that . . . I do not know what’s coming. I think you are breakable, but I also think you are stronger than you know. I think whatever is coming is going to hurt, but I also think, like any creation, it’s going to be worth it in the end.”

“And what’s it going to create, Castiel? What’s going to be worth that pain?”

“A new world,” Castiel said. “A new day.”

Dean closed his eyes. “Bet there won’t be a place for me in that new world any more than there is here. We’re outsiders, Sam ‘n’ me. He tried to have a normal life, and I wish to God he’d been able to keep it, but he couldn’t. It’s the family legacy. It’s the family curse.”

Castiel patted his back. The waves soothed him, but they were not soothing Dean and this troubled him. He said, “Dean, do remember asking me why I was not perched on your shoulder?”

“I didn’t quite put it that way, but yeah. I remember.”

“God . . . does not remove every stone from your path. Nor do we. I am sent to help you when I can, to guide you where you need it, but your life is yours to live.”

Dean inhaled and said thickly, “You’ve really got to work on this comforting thing, Castiel.”

“I am not done. Why do you think God commanded you to be pulled from Perdition, Dean?”

“He wasn’t done fucking with me?”

Castiel lightly rapped the back of Dean’s head, and Dean gave him a sidelong look, almost smiling. “That is blasphemy.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

Castiel sighed and tried again. “This kind of communication is difficult. But this is what I understand: you have been doing God’s work since you were a child. You and other hunters, slaying demons, putting ghosts to rest, saving people–there are few things more righteous than that.

“There is work to be done, and it may not be possible without you. That is why we need you.”

“God’s little soldier,” Dean whispered.

“You are not so little.”

Dean chuckled softly and leaned against him. “But if all of us hunters are doing God’s work, how come only I’ve been saved?”

“Because you are Dean Winchester,” Castiel said. “If there is more than that, I do not know.”

Dean shook his head and looked away. “You say that like you think it’s enough.”

“It is enough. It is enough for me.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?” Dean looked at him again. “That’s enough for you to trust me and have faith in me and believe I can do whatever it is I’m supposed to do.”

“It is. I know you.” He paused. “That is why I am not jealous of Anna.”

“Because you knew I’d come back to you?”

“Because I know,” Castiel says slowly, “what you desire and what you need to get by. I know what you will face. I cannot begrudge you comfort, Dean. Nor Anna.”

“It’s not always about comfort, Cas.”

“No,” Castiel murmured. “I suppose it is not. There is also desire. Passion. Lust.”

“Yeah.” Dean looked at him sidelong. Castiel looked at him, unsurprised when Dean leaned in and brushed their mouths together. “Tell me you need me,” Dean whispered.

“I want you,” Castiel whispered instead, which seemed to be good enough because Dean kissed him harder, hard enough to push him onto his back.

It was too cold to take off their clothes so Castiel put his hands inside Dean’s shirt to touch his chest, and Dean thrust his hands into Castiel’s back pockets. Dean’s mouth was hot, his face was cool, and he’d break away sometimes just to whisper, “Cas,” and then kiss him again, even deeper and longer.

Dean’s hips jerked against Castiel’s and they both shuddered. Dean ducked his head under the blanket and kissed Castiel’s stomach, muttering, “Fingers are cold,” as he opened Castiel’s trousers. Castiel pushed the hand through Dean’s hair, closing his eyes in anticipation.

He gasped for air at the touch of Dean’s tongue, heat coursing through the body, and he watched the starry sky as he rubbed Dean’s shoulder. No wonder this was celebrated in song and story, he thought; there was few things quite as lovely, as selfless, as gratifying, as giving and receiving pleasure.

The tightening in his belly took him by surprise, and he clutched at Dean with both hands as he cried out. “Dean,” he said. “Oh, Dean.”

“One of these days,” Dean said, wiping his mouth with the side of his hand, “we gotta get some lube, man.”

“And then do what?” Castiel stroked Dean’s hair, watching him fondly.

Dean hesitated, his lips pursing, and said, “And then fuck.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. “Intercourse.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered and laid his head on Castiel’s chest. Castiel stroked his hair and then pulled him close so he could kiss Dean, slow and hard, and slid his hand into Dean’s jeans. His fingers were cold and Dean’s skin was hot, and Dean held him tight and thrust into Castiel’s hand until he groaned and slumped against Castiel’s chest.

Castiel wiped his hand on the sand and touched Dean’s face, and looked back up at the sky.

It was so beautiful, this night.

“So do they know?” Dean whispered, still breathing hard. “The rest of the angel network, do they know all about us?”

“No,” Castiel said. “This is ours alone.”

“And when they find out you’re breaking the rules . . .”

“The rules,” Castiel said softly, “have surprisingly little to say when it comes to love.”

Dean pulled back at this. “Love, huh?” he said in a gruff tone. “Because we’re works of art, I guess, right? Because I’m your Father’s creation.”

“Yes,” Castiel admitted and sat up. He looked out at the ocean, wishing there were simple ways to explain it. “And because you are Dean Winchester. A man who eats too much and lies too easily and who has never passed a pretty girl without wondering what she is like in bed.”

Dean made a dry sound, not quite a laugh.

“And,” Castiel went on gently, “because you are Dean Winchester, a man who is gentle with fragile things and only wants to do what’s right. A guardian against the dark,” he added, watching Dean’s face.

The smile was faint but it was there, and Castiel was heartened.

He said, “I would be the shield on your arm, but needs must I be the sword in your hand, when the time comes.”

“Chop and burn, huh?”

“Quite likely. Meantime . . . meantime I’ll keep you warm.” He opened his arms, unsure as ever what Dean’s reaction would be–another reason he liked Dean, he understood him and yet Dean continued to be a mystery–and was pleased when Dean moved into them and pulled up the blankets so they were huddled together.

“So you love me,” Dean whispered.

Castiel caressed Dean’s cheek. “I believe I have answered that question.”

“Yeah, you have.” He settled against Castiel, sighing when Castiel kissed along his hairline. “I’m not there yet, Cas.”

“That is all right.”

“Yeah?” He glanced up at Castiel with confusion, but did not move away. “So what are we going to do?”

“I believe I’m going to watch the sun come up,” Castiel said. “And then take you home before Sam wakes, and hope I can see you again soon.”

“That’ll depend on how the war goes.”

“Yes.”

Dean was growing heavier in his arms as he relaxed. “Are you ever scared?”

“Yes,” Castiel said honestly. “Quite often.”

The silence was longer this time, and Dean’s voice was blurry with sleep when he said, “Wish you could perch on my shoulder.”

“I’m never far,” Castiel said, stroking Dean’s face again. “Sleep. I’ll wake you when the sunrise starts.”

Dean hummed, already there.

When the sky changed from nearly black to pearly gray Castiel touched Dean’s cheek to wake him. Dean blinked and inhaled, and pushed himself upright. “No nightmares,” he said with wonder in his voice.

Castiel nodded, wrapping his arms around his knees, and Dean leaned his head against Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel closed his eyes. He did not need to watch the sunrise: he knew the progression of colors, how the sky would turn pink and gold before it would be blue. He could feel the heat of the sun on his face, and the weight of Dean’s head on his shoulder, and both warmed him.

Only when the sky was completely blue did Castiel open his eyes. “Do you feel better?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I think I’m okay.”

“Then it’s time to go.” He put on his shoes and coat, and disappeared the blankets as Dean did the same.

They walked up the beach, though Castiel supposed he could take Dean back any time. It was only to prolong the pleasure of walking on sand in the sun and being in each other’s company.

Dean said, “We should get back.”

“Yes.”

“Sam’ll be worried.”

“Yes.” He stopped and looked at Dean once more, took hold of the collar of his jacket and pulled him closer. Dean held the vessel’s face, smiling as Castiel leaned into him. The kiss was slow, with none of Dean’s earlier desperation, and Castiel felt he could bear their parting now, certain that Dean could continue holding on. He kissed Dean once more and took Dean back to his brother.

He didn’t leave, though, not even after Dean kissed him good night and goodbye and got into bed to sleep for another hour before Sam woke. Castiel shifted himself from Dean’s perception and stayed with him until he was asleep, leaving a blessing behind when he was finally forced himself to leave.

No nightmares. Not this night.

End.

Title and epigraph from “Ocean Breathes Salty” by Modest Mouse.