Yeah...I'm still pissed about this. If not Dean then no one. If not no one then NOT MEG. Hot though it may be (ok just a little) but it's also nonsensical and had better be explained at some point. Also if Crowley didn't make Cas fake his death I'll eat my hat – something weird is going on.
Anyone notice how Sam is basically emotionless Cas, Dean is emo-Sam and Castiel is turning into Dean?
"I learned that from the pizza man."
And Dean would probably be ripping the piss out of him for that, if his brain wasn't stuck on, What the actual fuck?
Ok, so it's not like Cas hasn't done some weird shit over the last two years. Dean's familiar with the many faces of Castiel's weirdness - Fighting the forces of hell, standing way too close for comfort, slowly turning human, freaking out hookers with his psychic shtick.
Plus that disturbing future-orgy-beard-patchouli scented-bead curtain nightmare.
She killed Jo. She killed Ellen. Not seven hours after Castiel had been drinking with them. They'd been photographed together, the second-last-night-on-earth they'd shared.
Said hooker-freaking being the first.
He watched Castiel untangle his hand from Meg's hair, lips still vaguely damp, parted and deceptively human. His eyes are dark, intent.
He barely had time to think about hellhounds or angelic-wrath. His hands went up, pulling Castiel away from Meg and pushing him against the opposite wall. A soft sound of surprise blew past the angel's lips, just before Dean captured them with his own. He dropped his hands to Cas's waist, pushing him, holding him, with his palms rubbing on his hipbones.
For all Castiel's dour forcefulness only a few seconds ago, he softened into Dean's hold with a small needy noise, mouth opening smoothly under the slightest pressure. A gentle tongue laved across his own, sweeping his mouth slowly, carefully. Teeth caught delicately at Dean's lip, pressing, drawing back uncertainly. A strong, long fingered hand swept over his back, catching at the back of his neck.
When he finally pulled away, responding only to Sam's 'Hellhounds Dean!' and not Meg's sardonic 'Interspecies erotica can wait.' Castiel's mouth follows his blindly, his usually clear blue eyes slitted and vaguely unfocused. He runs his tongue over his chapped lips, breathing coming in ragged torrents as Dean slowly moves his hands, which have somehow found the bare skin of Cas's hips.
"Dean" he sounds truly shaken.
"We're not done" he warns, softly. Dodging away to lead the retreat from the hellhounds, from Meg and her stolen angel blade.
When Castiel returns, burning Crowley's bones and making good on every description of 'heavenly wrath', he pauses for a fraction of a second, and then burns the demon, burns Meg, from her host body. A flash of white light and she's gone.
"I haven't forgotten" he says, low and filled with a terrible kind of misery. Dean knows he means Jo and Ellen.
He drops a hand around Cas's waist, kissing him hard and fast, closed lipped and dry. It's a thank you, a show of forgiveness, almost chaste.
He can wait for the rest.