Wow. I didn't know so many people were into Angel!porn (is it the new Wincest? And... discuss!). Aaaaanyway, here's part 2. Please to be enjoying :)

He was cold again. Always so cold. He blinked in the light of the early morning sun, now streaming through the windows and onto the two cramped bodies curled together so awkwardly in the backseat of the car. He shivered.

Dean rolled over, bracing himself as best he could over the still-sleeping form of the other man, and smiled. The grin felt feral, felt lost. It felt like he did, desperate and sloppy and needy. His pants were still unzipped, and so were the angel's. All the better for what he had planned, a little morning warm-up.

He was so fucking cold.

He leaned down, met the creature's lips, lips that had chapped somehow during the night, and waited for the warmth, the happiness, the love. He felt Castiel stir beneath him, heard a moan of protest. A warm breath, stale-tasting with sleep, puffed into his mouth.

There was nothing inside him but chill, though.

Dean pulled back, looked down at the angel he'd pinned beneath him, one arm on either side of the less-imposing body. Blue eyes sparkled knowingly up at him. The mouth crooked into a smile.

"Why am I still cold?"

"You really think God could love you now?" Castiel asked, his voice low and rough, sounding more like John than Dean would ever want to admit. "You think anyone could love you after what you did?"


Dean jerked awake. He was cold. Always cold. So fucking cold compared to the warm body that had wrapped a protective arm around him in the middle of the night. He returned the favor, shaking from a combination of chill and the nightmare that had stirred him from his slumber at- he checked his watch- 5:30 in the morning. It was still dark outside as he wormed a hand under the tan jacket that apparently never came off.

He was still cold.

He thought about trying to sneak a kiss. Just to warm up. To prove that nightmares weren't real, even if they sometimes were. Even if the screams that echoed in his head every night had once belonged to people just like him, and when Sam dreamt that a person died that person usually wound up dead.

He turned to face the angel, turned to warm himself up inside, to get what he deserved- not what his subconscious had always told him- and froze.

Blue eyes bored into him. "Hello Dean," Castiel said, leaning his head down and planting a soft kiss on the hunter's forehead. "What were you dreaming about?"

Without a word, Dean disentangled himself from the angel's warm body and ran from the car.


The swing creaked. He was probably too heavy to be sitting on it, but he didn't care. If it broke, it broke. He would fall. He had already fallen, in a way.

The park was deserted, creepy in the chilly darkness of early morning. A cold breeze blew through the trees, ruffling barren branches and sending shivers down Dean's spine.

Only he could get sprung from Hell to rape his savior. Only he could get tossed right back into the pit. Only he could be so depraved. Only he could be so cold and careless sand stupid and selfish.

He shuddered.

Footsteps crunched through the fallen leaves, growing closer, but he ignored them. They didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He was damned. Damned and cold and lonely and unloved. His dream had told him so. The Bible told him so.

He moved back and forth, his feet never leaving the ground, trying to remember the times his mother had taken him to the park as a child. He had been warm then, bathed in sunlight, with angels watching over him. There were no demons, no dark corners, no cold spots. There was no hellfire.

The swing creaked, rusty chains squealing in the night, accusing. Ra-ape. Ra-ape. Ra-ape. Back and forth. Back and forth. And he couldn't stop.

The crackling of leaves came to a stop beside him and he turned his head to see the angel leaning against one of the metal poles supporting the swingset, staring at him with those wide, innocent eyes.

Dean swallowed hard. This was it. This was the moment that he'd feared ever since the words had left the creature's mouth. He was going back. He was actually going back. He was leaving his brother all alone, leaving Sam to the demons, to the evil of the world.

"You can't do this to him."

Castiel cocked his head to one side, examining the human. "You're not thinking about yourself anymore?"

Dean dug his feet into the pebbles scattered beneath the swings, stopping the creaking of the chains as they grated against the metal beams. "What? No. You… I…" He sighed. "Maybe. But Sam… he's more important. He matters more. He needs it more. He deserves-"

"You still think you are undeserving?"

"Don't you?"

The angel moved from his spot by the pole to the swing beside Dean. He sat down, swaying back and forth on the seat, staring straight ahead, out at the park. "Why did you do it?"

"Why did I…? Seriously?" Dean asked. He ran a hand over his face. He wasn't having this conversation. Couldn't be having this conversation.

"Yes." Castiel answered. "I want to know why you did it."

Dean turned to him. The angel was still staring straight ahead, not even bothering to look at him. His voice was flat, uncaring, a monotone that the hunter didn't like at all. "You want to know why I did it?" Dean asked. "Really?"

"Yes." Passive. A programmed response. Going through the motions. Not really caring.

"It felt good."

Castiel nodded. "I see."

Dean grinned, mouth twisting into something sinister, anger coming out as each word the angel spoke sounded more and more distant, more practiced with every syllable. "Was it good for you?"

"It was a sin."

"But what did you feel?"

"Disgust." Monotone.

Dean slid out of the swing, towered over the other man, glared down at him. "That's it? That's all you can say? Disgust?" Not that it surprised him. Not that he hadn't been expecting it. Not that he wasn't waiting for the moment when he was sent right on back down to Hell, screaming and wailing and shaking from cold. But he'd expected some emotion. Maybe some anger. After all, he'd felled an angel.

Castiel looked up at him with those eyes, clear and bright as the morning sky. "You were expecting rage?"

"I fucking raped you."

The angel smiled up at him. "Yes?"

Dean would have strangled him if that would have actually worked. "Do something."

"Such as…?"

"I don't know. Smite me. Send me back to Hell. Beat the shit outta me. Something."

"Do you feel guilty?"

The hunter stared at him. Blinked. Stared some more. "What?"

"Do you feel guilty?" Castiel repeated. "About what you did."

Dean deflated, the anger seeping out of his system, leaving him cold and empty, still staring at lips that could warm him back up. He shook his head and sat back down. "I don't know. I mean, I should. But I don't. I knew what I was doing. I meant to do it." He glanced over at the angel, the victim. "I'm…"


"But I'm not."

"I know." Still passive. Still monotone. But the eyes were alive. The eyes were caring, understanding, warm. Just like he had been the night before. Like they had both been.

"So, am I going back now?"

The angel grinned, a half-turn of the mouth. "No. Your job here isn't done yet."

"And when it is?"

There was silence. Wind whistled through the trees, blowing through dried branches, scattering fallen leaves. Dean shuddered. It was cold. So cold. Cold as Hell, and that didn't make any sense, but it didn't have to because he believed it. Hell was cold. It was for him. A living prison.

"There are other ways to pay for your sins," Castiel said finally, turning to him and offering a smile.

"Like, what? 'Cause I'm not really into the whole 'vow of celibacy' thing."

"You didn't do what I asked, did you?"

"Gonna have to be more specific."

"Read the Bible?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. Not unless you've got something specific in mind. Doesn't exactly count as a page-turner in my book."

The angel nodded. "There is a passage in Deuteronomy. At the end of the twenty-second chapter. I think you should read it."

"How about you summarize?" Dean asked, glancing down at his watch as the sun began to peek over the horizon. He was still cold, still shivering, but now he was worried about Sam. Worried about how his brother might find his body when Castiel finally stopped jerking his chain and made good on his promise to throw him back into Hell.

"Very well," the angel nodded. "'If a man happens to meet a virgin who is not pledged to be married and rapes her and they are discovered, he shall pay the girl's father fifty shekels of silver. He must marry the girl, for he has violated her. He can never divorce her as long as he lives.'"

Dean ducked his head, studied his hands. "Well, I'm fresh outta shekels, but I've got some bullets for your Dad if He wants 'em."

"I don't think you understand, Dean."

"No. See, nobody knows, all right? So let's sweep this under the rug, and-"

"God knows."


Castiel sighed. "Do not be afraid."

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't be afraid."

"The answer is in the verse."

Dean cocked an eyebrow and raised his head, dared to look at the angel. "You wanna run that one by me again? Maybe in something a little closer to English this time?"

"We were discovered, Dean. God knows all. God sees all. He knew what you were going to do before you did it."

"Then why didn't He stop me?" Dean asked, that anger rising again, pushing past the fear that had settled in his belly like the sun was pushing past the horizon line. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"I was doing God's Will."

"You were getting…" He trailed off, breathing hard now even though he wasn't sure why. "You don't have free will, do you?"

"No. I belonged to God."

Dean shook his head. "That must suck. Having to take orders. Not being able to disobey." He paused. "Belonged?"

"You owe my Father. Money is not important to Him. He wants something else from you. It's the reason He ordered your salvation, Dean. You're a warrior. You're needed to fight."

Dean shook his head. "I don't know what your God thinks I'm good for. I can't do anything but-"

"You're a good person. You only need to learn to see it."

He sighed. He wasn't a good person. His dream had told him so. His upbringing had told him so. His death had told him so. Everything in Dean's life had been a testament to the opposite of that statement, and he was eternally uncomfortable talking about his self-worth with an angel who seemed blind to the fact that Dean had taken (his virginity) advantage of him the night before.

"You said you belonged to God," Dean said, desperate to change the subject. "Why the past tense?"

"You remember our conversation about the Grigori?"

Dean nodded. "They lusted after human women and Fell from Grace."


"Did I…?"

Castiel smiled. "No, Dean. Nothing that happened last night was your fault. It was God's Will."

"God wanted me to…?"

"You deserve something out of this, Dean. Everyone is in agreement on that."

He shook his head. "SparkNotes, please."

"'He must marry the girl,'" the angel quoted, sliding off the swing and moving to stand over Dean, staring down at him with those piercing eyes, "'for he has violated her. He can never divorce her as long as he lives.'"

Dean swallowed hard, squirming under the gaze as their shadows spread in the early morning light. "Translation?"

The angel sighed. "You never could see what was right in front of you." He stepped closer and reached out a hand. Dean leaned instinctively away, fearing the burning touch, the wrath that he was sure bubbled just beneath the surface of the passive face.

Castiel took another step, reached farther. Warm fingers found Dean's face, skimming the jaw line before he could pull back. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He pulled his hand back and watched Dean, observed, head cocked to one side. "You still don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"I belonged to God."


He smiled, shoved the loose end of the tan jacket out behind him, let it flutter in the cool breeze, and eased himself onto Dean's lap. "I belong to you now."

Dean stared up at him, too taken aback by the sudden weight in his lap, the invasion of personal space, and the way his body was reacting to it to do much more than simply blink. "I'm sorry?"

"Don't be," the angel whispered, leaning in close and threading fingers through Dean's short hair. They sat their, facing each other, forehead-to-forehead, just staring as the sun came up and bathed the park around them in a bright orange glow.

"This can't be right."

"It is. What do you want for yourself, Dean?"

He didn't answer with words. For once in his life, Dean Winchester took what he wanted, what was rightfully his. Warm lips connecting, happiness rising within, he knew that he was wanted. He knew that he belonged.

He knew that he was loved.

The end. And, yeah. I know, I actually wrote something with a happy ending. Shocker.

Well, thanks for reading and reviewing and hopefully loving. See y'all soon!