Anything for Dean

Set after 5.15. There are only mild spoilers, though, so you should have no problem reading it.

WARNING: Heavy angst, bloodshed, sadism, masochism, blind devotion, wing-porn, torture and rough sex. (So, you know, nothing major xD)

Waking in a sweat again, another day's been laid to waste, in my disgrace.
Stuck in my head again, feels like I'll never leave this place.
There's no escape.
I'm my own worst enemy.

I've given up - I'm sick of feeling
Is there nothing you can say?
Take this all away - I'm suffocating!
Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me?

I don't know what to take, thought I was focused but I'm scared. I'm not prepared
I hyperventilate, looking for hope somehow somewhere,
And no one cares.
I'm my own worst enemy.

I've given up - I'm sick of feeling
Is there nothing you can say?
Take this all away - I'm suffocating!
Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me?

God! Put me out of my misery.
Put me out of my misery.
Put me out of my -
Put me out of my fucking misery!

I've given up - I'm sick of feeling
Is there nothing you can say?
Take this all away - I'm suffocating!
Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me?

Lyrics – Given Up – Linkin Park.

Empathy: the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner.

Psychopathy: a mental disorder in which an individual manifests amoral and antisocial behavior, lack of ability to love or establish meaningful personal relationships, extreme egocentricity, failure to learn from experience.

Dean trudged into the motel room, Castiel following closely behind. The angel was the only being who dared to be in close quarters with the hunter at that moment – one look from Castiel and Sam had known to let the angel take care of it. He seemed to be the only one who could.

The angel could read the body language of his charge, his Hunter, the man he loved, as easily as he had once been able to fly. With the slow-but-sure loss of his powers that was becoming harder and harder, just as reading Dean was…but there was no mistaking the anger, the emotions that set a nervous shudder to the hunter's every movement, his body practically vibrating with energy, just waiting, begging for an excuse to take it out on someone.

Dean said nothing as he walked into the bathroom of the motel room and slammed the door shut, to let Castiel know he wasn't to be disturbed. The angel sighed, looking around the room for a moment, but like a compass to magnetic north his eyes kept landing on that door. With every pass it seemed to grow bigger, unavoidable until it was dominating the entire wall, or so it seemed. When the sound of running water had begun and continued for a solid ten minutes, only then did Castiel take the few steps over and push the door open. At least Dean hadn't locked it. That had to be something.

Strange how such a mighty warrior, an angel of God, a messenger of the Lord, could feel such trepidation going into a small, non-threatening room with a human who could do no more physical damage to him than wind could…but it wasn't the pain Castiel was nervous of bearing. Not the physical, anyway. When Dean was angry – Castiel had come to realize this over their time together – he had this ability to…pinpoint exactly the right words to say, the right things that would crush his opponent to nothing in a sentence, maybe two. His brother had been the punching bag for most of that, but Castiel had as well in time, once he'd started to spend much more time and space with Dean, and they'd transitioned from Angel and Charge to friends to more…He knew what Dean was capable of with his words, and it was that knowledge that caused hesitation in the angel.

But he loved Dean, and Dean was hurting, and so Castiel would do whatever it takes to make him feel better, if only for a while.

His entry to the room was silent, but he knew Dean heard it anyway – he was a Hunter, after all, the best of his kind. His shoulders tensed but otherwise he didn't move, merely stood underneath the warm spray of the shower, his mind screaming at Castiel to leave him alone.

The angel's eyes lowered for a moment, taking in the shed clothing piled messily on the floor, the various bottles and the soap lining the shower stall, and the toothbrushes with their paste next to the granite sink. Quite an expensive material for the no-tell motel they'd stayed in for the past few days, in an attempt to stop the zombies…

An attempt that failed.

Dean was guilty, he'd admit it. Of all the people in the world, the one he least expected to fall was Bobby, and yet it seemed the Satanic armies had turned their attention to his friend and mentor. Bobby was like a father to Dean, of course he was…if he fell then…Dean had no idea what he would do, what he could do. The more he thought about it, the more it would seem like the straw that broke the camel's back…too much, just too much.

How many times will these demon sons of bitches break me?

The hunter tensed again as he felt the shower door move, and Castiel stepped under the spray behind him. He tried to radiate hostility, hoping that maybe for once in his freaking life the angel would get the message and move on…no such luck. The angel was silent, but Dean was hyperaware; he could sense his every move, feel those deep blue eyes on the back of his head, and he must be as weak as he thought, because he can't bring himself to look at his lover. Can't bring himself to turn around, meet the angel's eyes and see forgiveness, compassion and love. Love…Love that he didn't deserve.

God, I've corrupted an angel…an angel. There's no hope for me now.

Castiel bit his lip, slight frown pulling at his features as he read Dean's thoughts – the hunter didn't like that he could do that, so mostly he stayed out of Dean's head, but you know, desperate times – and felt at a loss of how to answer them. He exhaled gently through his nose, coming to a decision – Dean was always a more physical person anyway; talking wouldn't do much good. He raised his left hand, resting it on Dean's shoulder before sliding it down to rest on the handprint on Dean's arm, left there by his own hand. The fit was imperfect, so the usual intensity of their connection didn't make it through, but he felt the small tendril connecting their souls together, felt sadness overwhelm him at the scarred and blackened look of that tie. He wanted to repair it, any way he could.

Dean gasped audibly, his head falling forward as he braced himself against the tiled wall with his free arm, elbow bent so his forehead rested right above it. The warm water of the shower hit his back, ran in thick rivulets over his skin but that heat was nothing compared with the white-hot of feeling his angel's true presence, through that small amount of contact. Tears began to leak from Dean's eyes as his soul responded to Castiel's, hand outstretched to touch the Hunter, pull him back from the pit he'd fallen into.

The Pit.

With a growl Dean tore his arm away, the severed connection stuttering through his system with enough force to stop his heartbeat for a fraction of a second. His lungs felt momentarily dry and he swallowed, waiting until the pain of withdrawal faded away.

Castiel was too much like a drug. A taste of Heaven he would never have – he had to pull Castiel down from Heaven to keep it. Yet another thing to add to his never-ending list of things to be guilty about.

He shoved at the shower handle until the water stopped, stepping out from the stall and he grabbed a towel, wiping haphazardly at his body for a few minutes before he wrapped the towel around his waist. Not once did he meet his angel's eyes, not once did he see the hurt and confused look Castiel was sending him. But, God help him, he could feel it, burning in his stomach like bile. He didn't want to hurt Castiel. He just wanted to be alone.

No, I don't…

God help him.

When he walked back into the motel room Castiel was there, right in front of him, like the elephant in the room that never went away. He tried to avoid his angel's eyes, but there is no escape from the sight of God, he knows that now. He just wanted…damn it; he just wanted a way out. A way to take a freaking break and just…calm down. Hit pause on the Apocalypse and the angels trying to get him to drop the soap, and on everything alive, dead and in between to just back the hell off for one freaking day. Or week. Or month. Let the world rot for all he cared. He'd been to the future – what was worth saving? Nothing…not even his brother could be saved, his angel…God, Castiel…He was gone. Everything was gone.

What's the point of fighting for generals who will just ditch at the first sign of defeat?

What's the point of trying to fight a destiny that's older than time?

What's the point of caring anymore?

Dean had stopped, staring at his duffle bag. Castiel knew Dean kept his favorite gun in there, and the way he was looking at it like that option was getting better and better worried the angel. He had to stop this spiral before it got out of control – if anyone had a self-hating contest Dean would knock the ball right out of the park, but self-belief? Not so much.

Dean just needed a release for a while. He needed to work through his emotions in a healthy – and for the most part, non-damaging – way. But sometimes the only correct response to reality is insanity, and Castiel knew he would do whatever Dean needed of him, because the angel was certain he wouldn't be sent away. None of the scenarios he had planned for ended with him being sent away.

He pushed his vessel forward, feeling a slight lurch in the heartbeat as Dean turned his cold green eyes towards him. Castiel stopped, surprised at the fear he was feeling, looking into the Hunter's eyes and being able to read nothing. Nothing at all…it was the same look Dean had adopted the second time Sam detoxed from the demon blood…The hunter was in so much pain that eventually he just had to shut down, before it consumed him.

It's already consuming him.

He pushed past the fight-or-flight instinct, a deep breath fortifying his conviction, and took another step forward, and another, forcing himself to get closer and closer, to pretend he didn't notice how Dean's jaw clenched more and more tightly, until Castiel was sure it must hurt, and he pretended that he didn't notice Dean's fingers – those on the hand not holding the towel up – twitch just slightly, itching for a weapon, for an incentive to make the angel leave.

I'm not going to leave you alone, Dean.

Once they were so close that Castiel could feel Dean's breathing, the expansion of their ribcages letting their chests touch, just briefly, Castiel slid his hand up Dean's forearm, not stopping until it sealed over the handprint again.

Let me feel you.

One soul recognized another, and both leapt for joy. A soul is not touched by anything other than love, a bond forged at birth and sometimes before, something binding and sacred and near-unbreakable. To do so would mean death of a soul, and that is a horrendous thing to witness. Dean's behavior, trying to sever the tie Castiel and he shared, was slowly but surely killing the both of them, and Castiel doubted he even knew he was doing it.

Dean sucked in a deep breath, red-hot pain and white-hot ecstasy flooding his system like adrenaline. He leaned forward, closed the distance between the two men and crushed his lips to Castiel's, both of them eager and aggressive in their kiss. Castiel's hand tightened involuntarily on Dean's shoulder, causing the hunter to near-collapse with the sensation. Dean dropped the towel that was around his waist, in favor with knotting his hand in Castiel's dark hair, the grip bordering on pain for the angel. Tears were leaking from the both of them, and neither knew why but it didn't stop them – the salt tasted bitter and sweet all at once on their tongues and they yearned for more, each hoping to devour the other as their souls melded, greeted each other like old friends and lost lovers, and Castiel felt hope for the first time in a long time, as he felt the connection between them strengthen, regain some of the pure white it had lost.

This is it. We can do this…we can get through this.

Then, all too soon, it was over. Dean broke away first, gasping for air, face flushed and eyes near-wild with the flood of emotion in his system. He'd been so used to feeling nothing but pain, but now…Castiel was surrounding him in his angelic love and compassion, and it was such sweet relief to not feel pain anymore…but there was also fear, fear and lingering anger and guilt and depression and, damn it all, the hunter couldn't handle it.

He didn't want forgiveness – if he did he would have taken it when it was offered to him.

He didn't want redemption, like Sam. He didn't want compassion.

What he did want was Lucifer rotting in a grave, and he wasn't going to get that without being some Archangel's bitch…which leads us back to Heaven and angels in general.

Castiel watched the play of emotion on his lover's face, continued to gaze in a sort of horror as once again the icy façade of apathy and cold, hard hostility closed over Dean's face again, shutting off the light in his eyes that had been so fleeting, but so damn beautiful it was as hard to look at as an undisguised angel. It burned at Castiel's eyes like tears.

He could feel it, the anger, and the rage burning like purple flame within the depths of Dean's soul, which was normally such a beautiful green-blue, aquamarine like a tranquil ocean. Castiel missed that color, that knowledge that his Dean was there, all the time. Now Castiel barely recognized the hue of his hunter's soul, and that knowledge that the Dean he knew and loved was slowly slipping away from him caused the tears to come faster, harder and stung at his eyes.

God, Dean, please…please…stay with me. Come back to me. His cheeks felt unbearably hot, with a thin trail of cold through the middle where the tears were falling, and Castiel leaned forward again, unwilling to let Dean pull away this time. The angel merely stepped closer, slotting his body with easy memory into the harder lines of Dean's, trapping the hunter between the wall and his vessel. Dean was angry, he could feel it in the brutality with which Dean answered his kiss, twisting his hand into the angel's hair again in an attempt to pull him away, but Castiel held firm, a slight whimper escaping him when Dean pulled just a little too hard, let the tears fall more freely from beneath his tightly closed eyelids.

When his hand slid to the burn again, he was almost crippled under the weight of Dean's anger and self-loathing. Why are you so angry, Dean? What are you angry at? He didn't realize he'd said it aloud – or that Dean had heard him, one way or another – until Dean stiffened and pushed him violently away. Damn it, Dean, stop this!

The hunter practically snarled, hands curling into fists and he took a step forward, looking full-on ready to throw a punch at the angel. Castiel held firm – let Dean do to him what he may. Castiel would even let it look like it hurt.

Dean's next action took him by surprise; the hunter spun him around, pushing the angel roughly up against the wall. Castiel expected to feel one of many things – maybe a punch, fingers up his ass, whatever Dean needed or however he wanted to take his frustrations out, but what he ended up with was Dean's body pressed up against his, the hunter's harsh breath skating along his neck, and a solid demand in his ear to reveal his wings.

Damn it, Cas…do it…just give me a reason…Refuse, damn you.

The angel took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes closing gently as he turned his head, resting his forehead against the wall before slowly Dean felt the soft line of feathers shimmer into existence. Fine bones melded into sight, becoming swiftly covered with the fine downy feathers like those of a baby bird, then to be covered again with a thicker layer of longer flight feathers. Finally the lifting was complete and Dean stepped away just slightly, one hand curved around the back of his lover's neck to keep Castiel still, his forehead pressed tightly against the wall. The angel waited on baited breath, his body and wings quivering just barely as he awaited Dean's touch. Castiel's wings were incredibly sensitive, especially at the base of them where they met his ethereal body, the vessel's back. If Dean wanted to really hurt him physically, that was definitely the way to do it.

The pressure on his neck increased slightly as Dean leaned his weight onto the locked arm, other hand coming forward to gently brush against Castiel's spine, straight down the centre. The angel's breath hitched and his wings quivered a little, drawing in just a bit in reflex to be pulled away – he only used them for flight and even then they were never visible to the human eye. Like this he was extremely vulnerable, he knew it and he knew Dean knew it, and most importantly, he knew that Dean knew that he knew that, but still trusted Dean not to go too far.

A trust that, in hindsight, was widely misplaced. Castiel could read it in his hunter's thoughts; Dean wanted to kill something, wanted to inflict his anger on something and the angel was faster and faster becoming the best outlet for that. If Dean wanted, he could make it so Castiel wouldn't be able to fly, move for a long time. Wings took a long time to heal when the powers that allowed it were leaving.

There was a split second of nothing, where Dean's fingers were lovingly coaxing themselves into the downier feathers under his wing, right along the bottom edge, and then they tightened. The pain was sudden and blinding, and Castiel would have collapsed were it not for Dean's grip on his neck keeping him upright. Castiel drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, forcing himself to stay still and not make his wings disappear. This was nothing…it would get a lot worse.

And Castiel had promised himself that he would be there for his hunter. He wasn't going to back out now.

"Mmm…so beautiful, Cas." Dean's voice was a purr, his warm body once again pressed up against Castiel's, hand on the wing spreading out as far as he could and running down the longer feathers he found there. The hunter could feel his angel shaking and it made him near-growl with pleasure. Damn it, it felt so good to feel again…He felt free, like this. Free to be himself around Castiel, because the angel had fallen for him…Both literally and in that romantic-sappy way. The son of a bitch wouldn't run out on him now; he couldn't, and Dean knew that, and that made him feel powerful, in control for once in his freaking life, and that felt amazing. He hadn't felt like that since…

Hell.

Just like that the rage returned. If these mood swings got any more extreme he would have to take a pregnancy test or something. He'll start worrying when he starts spewing poems about ravens and some chick named 'Lenore'.

Another low growl escaped Dean, the hunter allowing the anger to course through him as he returned his hand to the top of Castiel's wing, right along the ridge of his shoulder-blade until he felt feathers again, as well as the fine bone that ran along the top. His hand tightened around the bone like a handle and he squeezed, his nails tearing surprisingly easily through the soft feathers and skin until he felt blood, could feel the smooth surface of the bone beneath his grip. He smirked in sadistic pleasure when Castiel cried out; let his other hand drop from the angel's neck so that Castiel fell to the floor, shaking and immobile from the pain. Blood trailed, warm and wet into his palm and down his arm as Dean twisted his fingers just a little, like revving the engine of a motorbike. Dean's smirk turned into a full-on grin when Castiel turned his head, giving Dean the beautiful view of fresh tears running down the angel's cheeks. Unable to resist the sight, Dean leaned forward so that his body was molded over the crouched form of his angel, tongue trailing hot and wet over the stubble on Castiel's jaw and cheek, moaning at the flavor of salt he was greeted with.

This…this is what he wanted. Hell was what he wanted.

"Is…that why…you're so angry?" Dean opened his eyes, staring into the shining blue of his lover's, and for a moment he was unable to answer the question. Castiel's ice-blue eyes were even paler; shining with his tears, that Dean hadn't even known the angel was capable of shedding. Nothing so pure should feel such pain, but damn it all Dean couldn't find it in himself to care – after all, this is what he was, wasn't it? A torturer, someone who brings pain and agony to the people he loves and feel no remorse whatsoever about it.

He had been that in Hell. He'd been free to be himself in Hell. And then this freaking angel had to raise him into salvation and now he was in even deeper crap than before.

So…the answer was…Yes. "Yes," he hissed, tightening his grip just a little more, dangerously close to shattering the fragile wing bone and he tugged towards himself harshly so that Castiel was forced rather unceremoniously to sit, his body between Dean's legs as the hunter remained crouched behind him. He hissed the words in the angel's ear; "Yes. I am angry because I didn't want this. You could have just left me in Hell to rot, to become what I'd sold myself to be, and I wouldn't have had to deal with this; my brother betraying me, Lucifer coming topside, or any of this angel crap. Damn it, Cas, I hate this. I hate this life, and I always have. Nothing's going to change that." With each word, Dean felt a little bit of himself, some of the overbearing emotion he was holding onto, wither and fall away. He felt lighter than he had since his mother was alive. "I could have been great in Hell, one of the best, the best, but you had to save me, didn't you? You and all your angel pals, only to make me someone else's bitch. You hide behind your righteousness and your God and what's it gotten you? Huh, Cas? What have you gained from any of this, this sick fascination you have with your father's 'Greatest Creations'? You've fallen, you're nothing better than one of us, now, like me and Sam, you're no better…and the only reason you're still here is because you have nowhere else to go. No one will help you. Damn it, Cas, I don't want to help you anymore. I hate you, I hate you so much, and I hate myself because I can't walk away, because I'm too emotionally invested and I hate it."

Oh yes, Dean Winchester could cause a lot of damage with his words, and Castiel had to close his eyes, break the heavy gaze he used to be trademarked for. He couldn't look in his hunter's eyes anymore – wouldn't give him the sick satisfaction of seeing the pain there. But…this was helping. He just kept telling himself that. This was helping Dean to get better; the Dean he knew and loved wasn't here right now, the beautiful aquamarine wasn't here. Instead was this purple-black monster, and there was no way of stopping it…what had he said before? Godzilla and Mothra?

Just clear a path and let them go on their way.

"But…damn it, I love you, Cas." And with that Dean's lips were on the angel's again, stealing his breath and his response in that one kiss. Castiel raised his shaking hands to the back of Dean's head, desperation helping him fight the pain of Dean's ever-tightening grip on his wing. God in Heaven it hurt…but it was worth it to see these little breakthroughs, the bursts of ocean color in Dean's soul and the connection between the two, ever-strengthening and ever-whitening.

They were healing. It wouldn't look like it to anyone else, but they were.

Dean moaned into the kiss, letting the death grip on Castiel's wing go, in favor of pushing the angel onto his back on the scratchy, dirty motel carpet. The injured, bleeding wing was splayed out next to the angel, limp and unmoving, his other folded uncomfortably underneath him, being crushed by his vessel's weight and Dean's when he laid his muscular form on top of the angel. Castiel whimpered into the kiss as Dean took his bottom lip in his mouth, biting down hard enough to draw blood and lapping at the small rivulet like a cat at milk.

If demon blood could turn his brother into such a monster, then surely an angel's blood could cure him.

Such purity…Dean tore his mouth away and looked down at his angel. Castiel was absolutely-fucking-beautiful, his hair brushed away from his face, cheeks flushed completely red and eyes still bright and shining from his tears, and Dean had never seen anything closer to Heaven, right in the middle of Hell.

Dean leaned down, low purr of arousal in his chest as he kissed his angel again, allowing another small burst of blood to sate the thirst that could never truly be satisfied. The hunter braced himself on his arms, one curling around at the elbow to cup the back of his angel's head and he raised Castiel's lips to his, his kisses turning surprisingly tender before he pulled away. Within a moment Castiel's thighs were spread, and Dean shifted his body to rest between his angel's parted legs. This, at least, was familiar territory for Castiel. He knew what to expect with this. Dean let out a quiet moan as Castiel's fingers threaded through the hunter's hair, a soft sigh escaping him in that brief moment of tenderness between them, before their kiss was broken by a harsh gasp as Dean's hand let Castiel's head drop in favor of knotting in his sensitive feathers again. The angel arched up viciously, delicious friction spreading through the hunter's nerves and Dean took advantage of Castiel's lips, parted in surprise, to slide two fingers into the angel's mouth.

"Suck or I take you dry," Dean said, voice hard before he closed his eyes, focused on the sensation of Castiel's mouth sliding up and down over his fingers, tongue sliding between and around them like Dean knew Castiel would when sucking Dean off. Dean's other hand tightened and loosened rhythmically in the downy feathers, loving the look of pain contorting his angel's features, but Castiel's rhythm never faltered on Dean's fingers, teeth and tongue working to coat Dean liberally in his saliva.

Finally Dean's impatience took over, and he allowed his fingers to slide out of Castiel's mouth, glistening and slick, and he moved down his angel's body to allow himself room to move. He didn't waste time in trying to give Castiel pleasure – he knew from experience that the torturer's job wasn't to care whether the victim liked it or not. He was far gone enough that it was only barely registering in his head that this was Castiel, and he shouldn't be doing this to his angel. But Dean had long ago learned to silence the part of him that was screaming to Stop. He would have plenty of time to hate himself later.

He pushed whatever conscience he possessed aside and pushed two fingers into his lover's tight body at once, ignoring the way Castiel's body tightened, trying to force him out. He pushed past it, refusing to be denied and barely registered when Castiel relaxed, lay pliant on the carpet as Dean stretched him, scissoring the two of his fingers to lessen the burn, just a little. Dean added a third moments later, barely waiting for Castiel to become comfortable, and it struck Castiel just how honest Dean had been – he probably wouldn't have bothered to prepare Castiel at all were it not for the fact that tearing up his lover on the inside would mean he was in too much pain for Dean to take him again later.

And again.

And again.

Until he was satisfied.

Anything for Dean.

Dean pulled his fingers back out of Castiel, ignoring the angel when his breath came out a hiss of pain. Dean shifted so that he could lay over his lover's body once again, his cock ready to split Castiel in two. The angel held his breath, waiting for the pain to come.

It never did.

At least not from his ass.

Instead, to distract Castiel, Dean planted his hands on the angel's wings, where the smaller feathers along the bottom of them were splayed, ruffled messily over the floor. His fingers tightened to the point of breaking through fragile wing membrane, causing Castiel to arch and cry out in pain. Tears started anew in the angel's eyes as Dean surged forward, using his handhold to pull Castiel back and sank to the hilt inside of his lover. Castiel's body was quaking with the pain, as the angel fought the urge to fight back, to blind or deafen Dean with his true form. Castiel took a deep breath through his nose, let it out through his mouth and, hands searching for somewhere to place themselves, ran soothing fingers through his lover's hair until Dean stopped shaking.

The hunter took deep breaths, not wanting to risk coming too early with the feel of Castiel, tight and dry and hot around him. This was as close to Hell as he was going to get again. Heaven. Take that, irony.

Dean pulled out just slightly, pushed back in until he sank more deeply into his angel. His hands pinned Castiel's wings to the carpet, forced the angel to just lay immobile as he began a harsh, brutal pace inside of his lover. Either Dean was oblivious, or he ignored the look of pain on Castiel's face, lost as he was in the sensations of muscles tightening and loosening around his cock. One of Castiel's hands traced a path from Dean's head to his shoulder, sealing over the handprint as their connection was forged once again, strong and solid between the two of them, and when Castiel's tears fell it was for an entirely different reason than the pain in his wings and his vessel. Sheer, unadulterated joy radiated from the contact of skin on skin, from every pore, into the burn and through to Dean's blackened soul. Little bursts of ocean color became more frequent, the darkness retreating in the face of Castiel's unwavering love and compassion.

Oh God…Dean knew he should stop, should pull out of the angel, leaving the both of them unsatisfied, and take care of his angel and apologize and make sure he was okay, but somehow that got translated differently in his brain – instead of care and love he experienced violent hatred, rage unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It was evident in the way he yanked savagely on Castiel's wings; almost bringing them flush to the angel's body and tearing great holes in the membrane. Castiel leased a loud, startled cry of agony, white flashing behind his eyes before he could stifle it. Dean snarled, angry that his angel was trying to fight back, to drive him away despite the fact that Castiel reined in his true self just in time. Dean kept pulling with his left hand, ignoring the pain radiating through his shoulder at the action, and instead focusing on the gasping whimpers his angel was gifting him with. The sounds were beautiful to Dean's ears, like the screams of Hell and twice as satisfying.

He kept pulling, as flesh gave way and finally he met no resistance. He had torn a huge gash in his angel's wing, from half-way through the span until he reached the bottom edge of the membrane, and tore out feathers and flesh until there was nothing. Castiel's wing lay limp, almost torn in half by Dean's own hand, and still the angel looked up at Dean with nothing but devotion.

Come on, Cas. Send me away…send me the fuck away…

Castiel reached up with his free hand, anchoring it around the back of Dean's neck and pulled his hunter down, their lips meeting in a brutal clash as Dean continued his harsh thrusting into his lover's body. Castiel bit his own lip as flesh caught and tore, and blood made Dean's going easier. Dean didn't even hesitate in taking advantage, becoming rougher even as Castiel's channel grew slicker.

Forgive him, Father…he knows not what he does…

Anything for Dean.

Finally it dawned on Castiel; compliance wasn't what Dean was looking for. He was trying to goad a reaction from the angel, trying to get into a fight even as he fucked into the angel with wild abandon. Castiel took a deep breath, let it out and refused, and revised his thoughts – anything for Dean, as long as he was uninjured.

Dean snarled heavily, biting through Castiel's lips until he tasted blood, placed his crimson-coated hand, from Castiel's wing, onto the side of his lover's neck to hold him still, and his pace increased inside Castiel. Every thrust jolted the angel's vessel, sent pain radiating through him and his injured wings. The half-shredded one bled onto the carpet, staining it red and causing the feathers to stick together as it dried, and with every movement they were ripped away again and sometimes torn off altogether. Castiel hissed and clenched his eyes tightly shut, but said nothing and didn't fight back.

Damn it, Cas.

No, Dean.

Push me away! I know you can!

No, Dean. I won't hurt you.

Castiel, finally feeling he would be unable to bear more of this torture without unleashing a part of himself, and therefore possibly hurting the hunter, clenched tightly around Dean. The hunter shuddered to a halt, stilled at the sudden tightness around his cock, and came with a low groan, his body shaking heavily. Castiel stroked his soft hair as he came down from the orgasmic high, waiting for Dean to come back to him.

He was pleased to see that the purple-black was completely gone.

Oh, God… "Cas…" His name was choked from Dean's lips as he pulled out with another shudder, bliss washing through him as easily as disgust. He opened his eyes for the first time since entering Castiel, appalled at what he saw. Blood coated almost his entire torso, running in stained rivulets up to his elbows, and coated his chin in a fine sheen. His hands were completely reddened by Castiel's blood, his cock and hips also – much to his anguish – seemed to have undergone the same exposure. What have I done?

He pushed himself to his feet quickly, seeing Castiel raise his head, feebly to follow his movement. It made him sick to see the flicker of pain even that much movement caused. "Cas…oh my God…" How could you let me do that to you?

Dean shook his head, running blood-soaked hands through his hair and staining the brown red. This was just a dream…just a horrifying, bad dream. He'd wake up soon and everything would be alright, he'd just have fallen prey to his sick fantasies once more. He didn't really just…what does this constitute as?

Rape?

Torture?

He didn't just do that to his angel.

And his angel certainly didn't just let him.

Dean's back hit cold, unforgiving wall and he slid down, hands still cradling his head, legs curled up in front of him. He couldn't look at Castiel, wouldn't bear to see the anger and hatred and, of course, pain in his angel's eyes. Wouldn't be able to deal with it.

He felt a warm hand over his scar, and looked up into the bright blue eyes of his angel. Again, tears fell unbidden from the hunter's eyes, hating the compassion and forgiveness he saw mirrored in the ice-blue irises. Damn it, Cas…leave me alone… Castiel merely shook his head, reading the thoughts in Dean's mind and silencing them before they could be voiced. Gently, he knelt down, and Dean pretended not to notice the fact that one of Castiel's wings had to be dragged behind him, as the angel was unable to fold it back into his body. Dean tried to ignore the blood path that followed behind his angel, tried to ignore the soft hiss of pain that came with Castiel's every movement.

He tried and he failed.

"Dean," Castiel murmured, cupping Dean's chin with his hand and forcing their eyes to meet. "You are saved." Then, the angel leaned down and pressed his bruised and broken lips to Dean's, and the hunter couldn't deny his body's reaction; he reached up and pulled Castiel down to rest over his lap, one hand knotted in the angel's hair tightly and the other resting around Castiel's torso, keeping the angel there but mindful of his bloodied wings. This time, he didn't fight back when he felt Castiel's love and compassion encompass him, accompanied with whispers from Heaven and bright light behind his eyelids. Castiel's hand slid home on Dean's shoulder and the hunter gasped, surprised by the sudden intensity bleeding through the both of them, their souls entwining still further with not a thought for pain or hatred or anger.

But Dean still seemed hesitant. Yes, he was keeping the angel in his strong grip, making sure Castiel didn't pull away, but even that contact seemed forced, like he was afraid to hurt the angel again. Castiel pulled away, his gaze pinning Dean and holding him still. The hunter held his breath, waiting for it to come – the rejection, the anger and the fear, Castiel telling him he was a sick monster and to never touch him again, but it never came. Instead, he held Dean's head in his hands, thumbs swiping at the tear tracks on his cheeks, and rested their foreheads together, gaze unblinking.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Dean," he demanded, as though he didn't already know.

And damn it, Dean couldn't resist telling the truth, just this once; "I'm not worth it, Cas," he murmured, tears welling up again regardless of how hard he fought them. "Look what I did to you…" His hand traced gently over the edge of the bruises on Castiel's neck, the rug burn down his back, the blood on his wings. "How can you stand to look at me?"

"Because I love you," Castiel replied simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. So blankly did Castiel say it that a choked laugh was forced out of Dean. Castiel's eyes never wavered. "It's true, Dean. You are my father's creation. You are my charge. You are the most beautiful thing in my eyes. I would do anything, Dean, for you and Sam. Never doubt that, please."

Dean shook his head again. "I'm not worth it."

Castiel sighed, impatience flashing briefly across his psyche. It echoed and rebounded through his connection with Dean, causing anger to flash in his eyes and his jaw to clench. As quickly as it came it was soothed away, and Castiel kissed Dean lightly again. "Please, Dean," he begged, his lips brushing Dean's gently as he took one of Dean's hands, placed it on his more-damaged wing, "Touch me. Feel what I'm giving to you." At first Dean's hand didn't move, but Castiel kept coaxing the hunter, like one would do a frightened animal, until Dean's hand moved through the uninjured feathers – though they were scarce – at the top of Castiel's wings, avoiding the wound where he'd gripped the fine bone like a handle. Dean let the softness run through his fingers, didn't miss how Castiel shivered with pleasure, his eyes half-closing.

"You see? You cannot harm me, Dean," Castiel murmured, kissing the half-lie into truth on Dean's lips. He moved closer to the hunter, straddling his legs and the angel wrapped his arms around Dean's neck. "I love you, and I give myself to you completely. Take what I give you." Dean continued his soft petting, other hand rising to the least injured wing of the two and his first hand falling away, finding favor closing around Castiel's growing erection. The angel shuddered heavily, let the pleasurable sensations from his wings run through his vessel, soothe away the fires of the pain. Dean ran his fingers with uncharacteristic gentleness through the long flight feathers, his other hand twisting around the head of Castiel's cock, stroking up and down at the same pace that the hunter's hand moved through his feathers. Castiel arched slightly, burying his face into his lover's neck as he whined, unable to stand the assault of sensations on his mind. He came silently into Dean's hand, breathing heavily, and warm breath skating along Dean's neck and causing the hunter to shiver lightly.

Dean wrapped his arms around the angel's torso, holding him close as Castiel came down from his high. Dean was so going to hell, he knew that. Guilt and pain washed through him as he gently stroked Castiel's hair, but when the angel pressed his lips to Dean's again, and they parted to let the angel in, to take control and taste his hunter so completely laid open and bare to him, Castiel felt the now-silver connection between them finally solidify into something solid, unbreakable and strong, and when the tears fell they were of joy and love and happiness.

Dean felt something grow inside of him, deep in his stomach. It took him a while to realize he was…content. Not happy, exactly, but at peace. Castiel's presence made him feel at ease, and he relaxed into his angel's kiss, content for the while to just revel in each other's presence, and not to think about what he'd just been forgiven for, of what he wasn't worthy of.

The point was that Castiel was in his arms, right now, and the angel was right – he wasn't leaving any time soon, and he loved Dean, and Dean wasn't going to let Castiel leave. There was nowhere for him to go, and Dean was alright with that. The realization that Castiel wasn't going to run out on him made Dean feel safer, in a way, to know that his friend, his lover and his protector wasn't going to abandon him, clearly, no matter what…yeah, that felt good.

And between them, their souls entwined more closely than ever before and settled down to rest.

Author's Note: When my beta read the first draft of this, she cried. When she read the final version, she cried again. I'm not sure if I'm happy about that (being a sadist) but I do consider it a success, since that's pretty much what I was going for. I hope you found this as intense as I did when I was writing it - seriously, it was like in the movie 'The Number 23' when he gets really obsessed over that number...I couldn't put this story away from more than a few hours at most. And when I dreamt it was about the scenes in it.

Anyway, review and tell me what you thought. Even bad things are constructive.

Love you all,

HigherMagic x