Title: By a Thread

Rating: Uh… gee, let me think.

Disclaimer: I gotta tell you, I'm having my issues with Seasons Eight and Nine. So no, I don't own anything.

Summary: He's trying to stay strong, but they're both barely hanging on.

Dedication: For lastknownwriter. Read her stuff and give her love. She deserves it.

"You can't stay."

The words felt like shards of glass, cutting his throat to ribbons as he forced them out, but it was the look on Cas's face that broke him. He'd never seen such helplessness on the angel – former angel's – face before. A part of him observed bitterly the irony of an eons-old soldier of Heaven reduced to such a state, but most of his mind was busily occupied with feeling like a first-rate dick.

Cas swallowed. "Why?"

The carefully prepared lie that Dean had spun in his head wasn't what emerged from his mouth. "Because Sammy's life depends on it."

Cas blinked. "Sit down." It wasn't a request.

It only took a couple of minutes to explain the situation. Ezekiel was being either a manipulative bastard or a fucking coward, neither of which sat well with Dean, but he had to put up with it or Sam was going to die.

"I don't want you to leave," He admitted for the fourth or perhaps fifth time. "But Sam–"

"Has to be protected," Cas finished for him.

Dean's shoulders sagged. Of course Cas understood, even when he shouldn't have. Nobody, not even Sam, understood him like Cas did, and that included Dean's deeply ingrained need to mother Sammy, guard him no matter what, like some kind of trained attack dog. And instead of informing Dean that John Winchester had done a number on him and screwed his priorities for life, Cas simply protected Sam as well.

"I should go, then." Cas stood.

Dean stood as well. "I'm not gonna let you leave empty handed. We got cash and food, and I think an extra jacket around here somewhere."

Cas nodded, his face carefully blank, his eyes gazing at everything but Dean's face. "I'll be out of your way quickly."

Something tightened in Dean's chest, and he took a step forwards. "You don't have to go tonight, Cas. Get some sleep and leave tomorrow, when you've rested."

Cas looked straight at him then, his eyes duller than usual but deep. "It's best not to delay the inevitable."

The words were so damned perfect that Dean laughed, the sound harsh and short, making his chest ache. This moment had always been inevitable, hadn't it? The moment had come, just like it always had before, when he had to choose between what he wanted and what he needed to do. If God weren't so conspicuously absent he'd be convinced the big guy had a sadistic sense of humor.

He raised his arm, breaching the invisible wall between them, his hand reaching out to finger the collar of Cas's shirt. The tips brushed against the warm skin of Cas's neck, and Dean felt the repressed shiver it provoked.

"I miss the trenchcoat," He admitted. "Carried that thing around a whole year when I thought you were dead, and you toss it out at a random laundry mat."

"I apologize," Cas replied.

"Don't apologize," Dean corrected. If anyone was going to be saying I'm sorry, it should be him, not Cas. "C'mere."

Cas took a hesitant step towards him and Dean closed the distance, slipping his arms around Cas's waist to hold the former angel against him. After a moment of standing there stiffly Cas reciprocated, his arms reaching to wrap around Dean's shoulders. Cas buried his face into Dean's neck, his hot breath puffing against the soft skin.

"I'm sorry, Cas," Dean said. "I don't want this. Tell me you know that. Tell me you understand that if there were any other way, I'd–"

Of course Cas would be the one with the balls to do it, in the end. Dean didn't even get the chance to finish his sentence, his breath stolen by the tongue swiping past his lips and into his mouth and holy shit when had Cas learned to kiss like that?

A hot white possessiveness gripped him, knowing the exact two places where Cas had learned such tricks, but Dean tamped it down. The incident with Meg couldn't really be helped, and April was all Dean's fault. He should've gotten to Cas sooner, and he couldn't really blame the guy for his naïveté. Dean moved his hand up to grip the back of Cas's neck, pressing their mouths harder together. He was going to blow those other two kisses out of the water.

He opened his mouth wider, exploring Cas's mouth to its fullest extent. Cas tasted of heat and Mexican food and the faintest remnants of ozone, and Dean wanted more. He wanted to chase the last hints of Cas's angelic nature, to wipe away all fear and pain, to explore it until he knew every hot crevice. He tangled their tongues, stroking and licking, nibbling at the edges of Cas's mouth. Cas made a choked, whimpering sound that Dean swallowed eagerly, his grip tightening. Cas was completely wrapped in Dean's arms now, Cas's hand gripping his left shoulder so tightly he was tempted to believe a new handprint would form over the first one. Cas kissed with his whole body, molding himself against Dean and holding nothing back, giving himself over completely.

It might have been cliché but it was the best fucking kiss of Dean's life.

"Need you," Dean panted, his voice embarrassingly rough. "Cas, I need you here. Understand that, okay? I'm gonna find a way to get you back here, back with me."

Cas made the most gut-wrenching moan Dean had ever heard, frantically raking his nails over Dean's back and shoulders. "I want to stay," He confessed. "You always asked me to stay and the minute I can, I…"

Dean didn't want to think about that. It was too painful, too open and raw. He kissed him again, holding him a little more roughly than before, but Cas would not be deterred. He pulled away, his hands cupping Dean's face, holding it with such tenderness.

"I wanted it to be you." Cas's eyes were lasers boring through Dean's skull, lanterns that shone into the darkness of his soul. A Reaper had borderline raped the poor guy and he was asking Dean for forgiveness? Dean was halfway to telling Cas that it was nothing, water under the bridge, and Dean himself hadn't been a very good role model, when Cas spoke again.

"It was very pleasant, but every time I closed my eyes I kept seeing you. I wondered what you would look like while we…" He couldn't finish, his eyes sliding downwards, embarrassed.

"We can, if you want," Dean offered. "If… since you need to stay the night away, y'know, get some rest. I mean, if you still want to."

It was as if his years of experience in propositioning and smooth-talking had gone out the window, leaving him the same stuttering, unsure kid he was when he was seventeen and knew nothing but the feel of his own hand.

"I would like that very much," Cas said, his old honest earnestness coming back for one moment, making Dean grin.

"C'mere then." Dean intertwined their fingers, tugging Cas's hand to guide him, keeping his other hand on Cas's slim hip so as not to let him stray too far away. In the morning they would be torn apart again, the line that kept them connected stretched taut and thin, but for tonight they would be as close as he could get them, so close that they'd nearly merge together, unable to tell whose limbs belonged to whom.

Dean had considered setting up one of the extra rooms as Cas's, even going so far as to painstakingly catalogue in his head all the things that Cas would need or want, but had never actually gotten around to it. It was probably because, in the dark dusty corners of his mind where he swept the thoughts he didn't like to dwell on, he knew he wanted Cas to share Dean's room. He wanted it to be their room, not just his.

"How to be Human 101, Cas," Dean whispered once they were safely inside, the door closed (and locked for good measure because his brother's a prying drama queen with no sense of privacy). "How to remove clothing."

"I learned that lesson already, Dean." Cas (was that a smirk?) said, his hands gliding gracefully over the planes of Dean's stomach as he lifted the hunter's shirt.

"Yeah?" Dean replied softly. "These pants can be tricky things, though. Might want to let me do them this time." He unbuttoned the jeans as he spoke, pushing them down Cas's body and out of the way.

Cas chuckled and let Dean pull them flush together, giving a sigh of pleasure. Dean actually liked Cas's new clothing style, halfway between small town librarian and the Winchester style of wearing seventeen layers for no good reason, but he figured he could tell Cas all of that tomorrow.

He wished he didn't have to worry about cramming everything he wanted to say and do into one moment. He wanted to be lazy, knowing that he had days, months, the rest of his life to be with Cas. But for now he had to cling to the hope that he would get that, and sooner rather than later. It was just until Sammy was completely healed. Just for a little while longer. And then he could have forever.

In the meantime, he'd settle for the moments he could steal.

Cas sank down onto the bed, staring up at Dean, his eyes bright and guileless. Dean swallowed, taking in the sight. He'd known Cas was gorgeous but fuck man. It helped that Jimmy Novak (poor sucker) was well hung, too. Dean's mouth watered.

He climbed onto the bed, sealing their bodies together and kissing Cas as deep as he could get. He could literally feel Cas going boneless.

"Which way you want to do this, babe?" He whispered, sucking soft kisses into Cas's neck. "Me or you?"

Cas made a sound roughly translatable as nngh.

Dean chuckled. "I couldn't understand that one, angel."

"I'm not an angel anymore, Dean," Cas admonished.

Dean drew back, seeing the pain painted in broad brushstrokes on Cas's face, etched into the lines and curves of his features. "Yeah you are." He crooked his lips up in a half-grin. "You're my angel. Always gonna be."

Cas surged upwards, kissing Dean like he was drowning and Dean was oxygen, urgent and fierce and possessive, and Dean felt hot, wet liquid on his face that didn't come from him.

Could it possibly be that Cas didn't know? That even now, after everything, he still didn't fully comprehend?

Dean pulled away, tugging on Cas's bottom lip, and tilted his head so that his mouth was right by Cas's ear.

"I love you, Cas," He whispered, his throat constricting on the words. He might never say them again – hell, he'd only said them to Sam once, and certainly never to anyone else – but he needed Cas to hear them. This was something that had been building in him for a long time, the pressure unbearable like slabs of rock piled onto his chest until he had to say it or he'd shatter.

Cas ground them together, riding Dean's thigh, and Dean had to bury his face into the pillow to stifle the groan. The guy couldn't fucking spring something like that with no warning!

"Dean Winchester," Cas growled, yanking Dean's head back up so they were staring into each other's faces, refusing to give up on the painfully sweet thrusting. "I have loved you since I saw your still-bright soul in the choking darkness of the Pit. I have loved you through every idiotic thing you've said or done. I have loved you since before I knew what love was. And I don't think I will ever stop."

"Good." Dean's throat was raw and he knew without looking in a mirror that his eyes were red. He mouthed the words against Cas's throat, sucking a vicious hickey. "Because you're fucking stuck with me."

Cas keened, giving a delicious full-body shudder. "Me," He rasped.

"What?" Dean scraped his teeth along Cas's jaw, not enough to hurt but just enough to tease.

"Me. You asked, you or me. I want you to fuck me, Dean."

Dean's eyes snapped shut as he savagely bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to frantically rut at the words spilling out of Cas's spit-shining lips. He ended up having to recite a few baseball stats inside his head.

"Dean?" Cas sounded incredibly concerned. "Are you all right?"

Dean opened his eyes, smiling down at Cas's sad puppy face. "Yeah, Cas. Yeah. You're just… you're really fucking hot, okay?"

Cas blushed and slid his eyes away. They were going to have to work on the guy's self-image.

"And we're not… we're not fucking." Dean's breath stuttered in his chest.

Cas looked confused. "We're not?"

"This, this is…" Dean gestured between the two of them. "It's more than that. You got that?"

He could see the understanding dawn in Cas's eyes, the blue flame igniting. "I understand," He said gravely.

Dean laughed breathlessly and leaned over, reaching into his bedside drawer. The bottle of lube was unopened, as was the box of condoms, but he liked to be prepared. He'd had no intention of bringing any girls back to the bunker – or any men, for that matter – but in a place where he hadn't wanted to admit it, he'd hoped he'd have a reason to use them, and with whom.

He carefully coated his fingers on both hands, deciding to start with the easy stuff. He gave Cas a quick kiss to the lips before sliding his hands around Cas's dick, pulling slow and easy. Cas panted, his pupils blowing so far open that were the blue of his eyes any dimmer it wouldn't have been noticeable. It was a little difficult to kiss Cas on the mouth and take care of business at the same time, so Dean set out to see how many sensitive spots he could find.

Turned out, Cas was definitely a nipple guy. Licking around and sucking them into his mouth turned the former angel into a writhing mess, as did nipping at his jutting hipbones. Dean never sped up his pace, working steadily, until the member in his hands had gone from flushed to deep purple and Cas was making these fantastic throaty mewling noises, his head tipped back as his throat worked.

Sucking in a deep breath, Dean slid his other hand down, feeling with his fingers until he found what he was looking for. Cas was tight, understandably so, but slicked up with lube his finger managed to breach without too much trouble. He felt Cas clenching around him, the muscles fluttering slightly.

"It's okay, babe, I gotcha," Dean soothed. "Just relax. It's gonna feel so good, just you wait, but you gotta relax."

It was a testament to how thoroughly Cas trusted Dean, because he relaxed immediately, opening up more and allowing Dean to start moving. "That's it," Dean praised. "Gonna work you open nice and slow, angel. You just hold on."

Cas's hand came down to tangle in Dean's hair, tugging gently. Dean gave him a lopsided smile and obeyed, stretching up to smash their mouths together again, their tongues battling, engaging in a war neither really wanted to win. When he felt Cas was loose enough he added a second finger, swallowing the punched-out breath that Cas released, scissoring him open methodically.

"Dean…" Cas stuttered. "Dean…"

"Does it burn?" Dean slowed, concerned. "Is it too much? You gotta talk to me, Cas. Tell me how it feels."

For a moment Cas did nothing but breathe heavily, his eyelids fluttering. "Good," He exhaled. "It feels… very good."

"Want me to keep going?" Dean asked.

Cas nodded, and Dean immediately sped up a little, thrusting a few times before crooking his fingers just so.

Cas let out a yelp and clutched at Dean so tightly the hunter knew he was going to have marks in the morning. He crooked his fingers again and Cas moaned blissfully, his head falling back against the pillow, Dean's name on his lips.

"Told you it'd be good," Dean whispered, nuzzling at Cas's pulse, feeling it flutter there, so wonderful and fragile and painfully human. "I always keep my promises, Cas. Gonna make you see stars again, baby. Gonna show you the whole universe."

Cas gave a chuckle and seemed like he was about to make a retort, so Dean added a third finger. Whatever words Cas was going to let out piled up in his throat, his eyes going wide, and he twisted helplessly under Dean's hands.

It was the most fucking erotic thing Dean had ever seen.

"That's it," Dean whispered, barely restraining himself from thrusting against Cas's thigh at the sight of his helpless writhing. "Gotta hold still, babe. God, so fucking gorgeous, just like this. Always wanted you like this. Too scared to tell you but fuck, Cas, wanted this for so long…"

"Dean," Cas panted, trying to regain some control.

"Yes?" Dean asked innocently, crooking his fingers again. He was being a teasing bastard about this, but the results were fan-fucking-tastic.

"Dean." This time Cas growled it, his hand seizing Dean's wrist, stopping him from moving. "Get in me."

Dean nearly swallowed his own tongue. "You got it." He saw the pre-come glistening at the head and couldn't resist, lapping it up with little kitten licks before sucking gently as he fished for the condom.

Cas might have been trying to growl again, but the sound was far too high-pitched for that. "You always were a cocky little–"

Dean kissed him properly, pushing the words back down Cas's throat with his tongue. "Look who's talking?" He grinned, finally getting the damn condom rolled on.

He loved this – loved that they could tease and playfully insult one another, bring up their past mistakes without pain or accusation. Cas smiled against his lips, their breaths mingling as Dean positioned himself between Cas's splayed legs.

"Ready?" The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Cas.

To Dean's shock, Cas rolled his eyes. "Get the fuck on with it, Dean," He demanded.

Dean chuckled and complied, carefully sliding in. His eyes nearly crossed and he had to close them, like a dam against the river of tight hot wet yes yes sensation that bombarded him.

"Let me know when it's okay to move," He said, his voice embarrassingly strangled and lost somewhere near his toes.

Cas nodded, his throat clicking dryly. Dean stroked his sides reassuringly, bestowing kisses on Cas's chest, in the hollow of his throat, along the ridge of his shoulder – anywhere and everywhere his mouth could reach. It was his, this body and the person it belonged to, and nobody else was going to get it ever again.

"Dean." Cas rubbed their cheeks together, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Dean's ear. "You can move now."

Dean bit back a groan, starting slowly. He had to brace himself on the bed to make sure he had a good, deep angle, adjusting until he hit just the right spot, making Cas moan and clutch at him again. He felt the velvet vice gripping him slowly loosen up more, and he was able to move faster, faster, faster until he had lost all sense of rhythm and the headboard was thudding against the wall.

Maybe it was his years of experience, but Dean found that he was babbling things like c'mon sweetheart, that's it, let me hear it and just like that Cas, give it to me, don't you hold back while Cas did nothing but chant Dean's name over and over again, panting and desperate.

When Cas started thrusting back, fucking himself onto Dean, the hunter decided to just go all-out and he thrust as deep as he could, skin slapping together obscenely, and he felt Cas bite his shoulder (he knew the son of a bitch would have a kink or two) at the same time Cas clenched wildly, clamping down around him, and his dick spurted, untouched, thin ropes of come painting their chests like something by Jackson Pollack.

But it was the completely, utterly wrecked, broken sob of Dean that undid him, and he was consumed by the wave of blessed heat. The world went white, beautifully blank, leaving him with no sense of time or space save for the pleasure coursing like hot poison in his veins.

He came to, panting, on his back next to Cas. The guy looked rather like a train had hit him point-blank at full speed, but there was a barely-there upturn to the corners of his mouth that told Dean it was a good kind of train wreck.

"You okay there?" He asked, reaching out to catch Cas's chin, press his thumb into the corner of his lips.

Cas turned his head, sucking Dean's thumb into his mouth, and Dean swore if he'd been just a few years younger…

"That was… much better than the last time," Cas admitted.

"Good." Dean leaned over and kissed him, slow and deep and easy, pretending they had years to just lie there like that. "I'm gonna get us cleaned up."

He slid out of the bed, procuring a towel and wetting it with warm water, cleaning them both up and grimacing at the wet patch. Cas helped him strip the bed before they burrowed back under the covers. He could put on a new mattress sheet tomorrow.

Dean made to tug Cas to him but the sly fucker beat him to the punch, sprawling on top of Dean like a mix between a kitten and an octopus.

Should've known the guy would be the world's biggest cuddler.

Not that Dean was complaining. Not when he could wrap his arms around Cas's warm, lean body and kiss the top of his head. Not when he could have Cas hold him, feel Cas squish his face into the juncture of Dean's neck and shoulder. And certainly not when he could pull the blankets over them, creating a hidden nest, a soft world that consisted of just the two of them.

For the first time since he could remember, Dean had no nightmares.

They were up early the next morning. As much as Dean wanted to savor this, to laze around in bed and possibly let Cas fuck him, slow and easy, they needed to sneak Cas out while Sam was on his morning run. Dean packed a duffel bag full of clothes he barely wore – they were a little broad for Cas's thin shoulders and tiny waist but they'd do for the time being – and as much food as he could spare. There was also a roll of cash, some toiletries, and a cell phone, prepaid. He wasn't going to lose contact with Cas, not if he could help it. If Cas had to go, then he was going prepared. Dean even had a list of detailed instructions on how to get a motel room and get a safe, unassuming job as a janitor or something.

Cas watched all of these proceedings with muted eyes, Dean's movements apparently fascinating to him. Dean's throat kept constricting, and he wished that Cas would just get angry with him, yell at him the way Dean deserved. Now that he'd had a taste, it was twice as hard to tear himself away.

Which was why Cas's 'quick shower' turned into a frenzied session that went like something out of tenth grade, sliding their cocks together as they thrust into their joined hands, letting the spray of the burning hot water pound away, a thousand tiny fingertips massaging their muscles. Dean got water in his eyes and his mouth and it was hard to avoid slipping on the slick tile but he refused to stop kissing Cas, peering at him through waterlogged eyelashes, sucking the moisture off his skin.

They were an absolute mess of purple-red-blue hickeys by the time all was said and done, marks of every shape and size (one looked kind of like Massachusetts) dotting their necks, shoulders, chests, and hips. It was a wonder that Cas got clean at all.

Dean had no one to blame but himself, of course, but he really shouldn't have been so shocked that they got caught. Kevin was still dead to the world, having learned that neither brother had the heart to wake him before noon, but just as Cas and Dean were ascending the stairs, Sam burst in.

There was a reason Sam got a full-ride to Stanford. One look at Cas, all bundled up with a duffel bag over his shoulder – the one he'd insisted he carry despite Dean's protests – and Dean's guilty face and Sam knew exactly what was going on.

"You're going to let him leave?"

If someone were going by Sam's tone of voice alone, they would have thought Dean had run over Sam's puppy.

"It's his choice, okay?" Dean argued. "You think I want this? You think I want him to leave?"

"I swear to God, Dean," Sam said, pulling Bitchface #34, his voice a study in exasperation. "If you could just get your head out of your ass and talk to him…"

"About what?" Dean demanded.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the part where you're in love with the guy and you want him to stay and gay-marry you and kill monsters with you until you're old and gray?" Sam snapped.

Dean had always known that Sam knew, that Sam had known perhaps even before Dean himself had figured it out, but he hadn't expected Sam to ever dare to bring it up.

That's the excuse he was going to stick with as to why he shot back with,

"Has it ever occurred to you that I might have already told him?"

Sam's gaping-fish face was priceless. Dean wished he had a camera.

"You… he… you…" Sam spluttered helplessly.

"Yeah, Sam. He knows," Dean snapped. "Doesn't change anything. We're not safe with him around, and he wants us to be safe. We might not like it but we have to live with it. End of story."

Sam kept gaping.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I gotta go drop him off at the bus station. I'll be back later."

"Dean!"

Sam grabbed his shoulder, turning him so that the brothers were facing. "He can come back later, right? Once we sort this angel thing out?"

Dean nodded, eyeing Sam carefully. "That's the plan." He hoped that Ezekiel, the bastard, could hear him. The second Bartholomew and the other winged dicks were out of the way and Sam was healed, Dean was getting Cas back.

No, screw Naomi's little protégé. Once Sam was back to one hundred percent, no angel mojo needed, Cas was coming home. Period. End of story.

Sam must have seen the determination in Dean's face, because he stepped back with a small nod. "Kevin will be disappointed," He noted.

"We'll explain it to him. The kid's tough. He'll understand," Dean said, reassuring himself as much as Sam. He was fond of the floppy-haired overachiever. It was like having a little-little brother all over again.

Sam didn't say anything to Castiel, but he hugged the former angel with all the bone-crushing ferocity his six-foot-four frame could muster. Cas winced, but promised Sam that as soon as he was no longer a danger to the Winchesters, he would return.

The car ride was silent, but he drove one-handed with his unoccupied hand on Cas's thigh. Cas laid his hand on top of Dean's a few minutes into the drive, interlocking their fingers. Every so often Dean would glance over and Cas, as if sensing the gaze, would turn from observing the road and meet Dean's eyes. It was all Dean could do to tear his gaze away and turn his head back to the road.

When they pulled up at the bus stop Dean noticed the fascination with which Cas observed him changing gears.

"As soon as you get back, I'll show you how to drive," He promised.

Cas looked shocked. "You… you would show me how to drive the Impala?"

Dean chuckled. "I don't love you that much, Cas," He teased. "No, the bunker's got a huge garage with some sweet classics. I think there's a mustang or something down there we could start you on. You're not touching my baby until you can learn how to handle a clutch."

Cas cracked a tiny smile, and Dean's grin widened. "We'll also have to stop by a tattoo parlor, get you an anti-possession tattoo." He leaned over and tapped Cas's chest, right above his heart. The skin had been deliciously smooth and bare last night, but he knew for Cas's safety they had to get him protection against demons.

And hey, tattoos were hot. Tracing the Enochian symbols on Cas's waist with his tongue had been one of the highlights of their shower tryst.

They got out, Cas hefting the duffel over his shoulder. The bus was already pulling in and the truth hit Dean like a sledgehammer to the chest: Cas was leaving.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Dean said. "There's, uh, an empty journal in there. The bunker's got a shelf full of 'em. I put some instructions in there – how to cook and stuff like that, how to know when you're too drunk… y'know. You can write in there, too, put down all the stuff you've learned and all." He grinned. "Who knows? Maybe you'll go on a hunt or two."

Dean really hoped Cas wouldn't go on a hunt by himself, though. The guy might try to smite something or teleport and forget that he couldn't. Dean didn't want Cas to be ten miles within anything dangerous, not until Dean could get some training into him.

Cas nodded, and Dean had to swallow down the heat pricking his eyes. "And, uh, call whenever you need to. The number I put in… it's for a burner cell. My cell. Sam doesn't know I have it so there's no chance Zeke'll know anything he shouldn't. Keep me posted, okay?"

The bus rolled to a stop and opened its doors as passengers began to disembark. Cas moved so quickly that for a heart-stopping second Dean thought he was mojo'd up again, snagging the front of Dean's shirt and pulling him in for a filthy, deep kiss, all tongue and teeth and desperation. Dean clung to Cas's shoulders, loving this possessive, dominant side of Cas, wishing like hell he didn't have to let go.

"Anything, anything you need, you call," Dean insisted, refusing to relinquish his death grip when Cas tried to pull away. He kissed Cas again, deep and slow. He felt Cas's lashes flutter against his skin, the way Cas's chest expanded as he inhaled sharply through his nose.

"Promise," Dean whispered, nipping at Cas's bottom lip. "Promise you're not going to be a fucking martyr and do something stupid on your own."

"As long as you promise to tell me the second Sam is safe," Cas countered.

"Babe, I'll do more than tell you. I'll show up at your doorstep and drag your sorry ass back here." Dean grinned, watching Cas's eyes light up for a bare second.

"I have to go now, Dean," Cas said, his voice cloaked with sadness and heavier than lead.

Dean tightened his hold for a moment before stepping back, letting Cas slip away and walk off. Cas put a foot on the bus, turning to look back at Dean over his shoulder. Dean forced a grin onto his face, giving Cas a thumbs-up.

And then he was gone, inside the bus, and it was pulling away, picking up speed as it headed onto the road and onto the highway, leaving Dean in the dust and the silence, carrying away the most important thing in his life.

Dark fire bloomed in Dean's chest and he got into the Impala, pulling out of the lot with a roar. He was driving back to the bunker and sitting both Kevin and Crowley down and having a talk. They were getting Ezekiel out of Sam, and they were going to do it sooner rather than later. He was tired of the universe fucking with him, and he was tired of having to choose between his little brother and the man he loved. And, while they were at it, there were some fucking angels after Cas's ass that were begging for a good stabbing.

This was fucking war.

Wow. This turned out to be far longer than I'd originally intended, a bit fluffier, too. I blame the plot bunnies and the combined abs of Jensen Ackles and Misha Collins. Also, I'm thinking of doing a tattoo-themed one-shot. What d'ya say?