Title: After Hell, Heaven's Touch

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Het sex, violence towards women, graphic depictions of gore, torture, and Hell (all in Dean's head), top Cas, then top Dean.

Spoilers: Throughout season 4

A/N: Where's Sam in this story? At the library. Every night. All night. Where he belongs. I love Sam, but he is kind of a giant cock-blocking third wheel.

When Dean returned from Hell, he knew he was damaged goods. He kept his memories a secret from Sam for as long as he could, but they still haunted his dreams, always reminding him of what he'd done. What he became.

He muscled through most of it. Tamped down the memories, determined to do good, to outweigh the evil he had accomplished in the pit when he had his victims on the rack before him, his scalpel in hand.

In most instances, he succeeded. He hunted. He spent time with his brother. He fell into an easy pattern with Bobby again. Everything was mostly normal.


Dean wanted everything to be as it was, as much as he could, and he was eager to feel pleasure again, after so much pain. He joked with Sam about being a virgin again, after he was pulled out of the pit, his body fresh and rehymenated.

Jamie was a good opportunity for a first time lay after his return. She was beautiful, and grateful that he'd saved her life from the obsessive shifter. Her looks and personality were just his type. It was perfect.

At least, she'd thought so.

When Dean was done, she'd seemed satisfied, clinging to him, kissing him still, her body vibrating with pleasure. Dean had come, had done his duty. But something was missing. His skin felt tight, itching for something else.

He didn't know what that something else was until the next night, when he and Sam had left the Oktoberfest, looking for the next hunt. They were in a motel. Dean was sleeping and dreaming.

He was in the pit again, and Jamie was on his rack, naked and beautiful. And bloody. Dean was carving pretty designs into her breasts with his scalpel, while he was balls deep inside her. His cock throbbed as she screamed and cried, her lips split open and bleeding.

He wrapped his hand around her throat, squeezing, changing the pitch of her cries, making her body jerk and seize, trying to get air. He laughed and thrust harder. As he neared the peak of his pleasure, about to empty into her broken body, he woke up. His orgasm hit him anyway, and with a low groan, he came, soaking his shorts with come, leaving him shuddery and sweaty. But also satisfied.

He didn't go back to sleep after that.

A month passed, and Dean's fervid nightmares of Hell blended with his sexual fantasies, putting the local waitress at the latest dive bar on his rack. When he was hit on at bars, he would shut his eyes, only to have his vision flooded with the image of the beautiful woman bearing a set of black eyes, and missing teeth, crying and screaming. His cock throbbed at the sight of it, and he would excuse himself quickly.

Dean tried masturbating, a method he enjoyed before, but never had much need for on a regular basis. But it only seemed to encourage him. His usual turn on, his busty Asian beauties, couldn't fully arouse him. Only if he imagined them bloodied by his hands could he get an erection, and conjuring those images, willfully, made him sick. He pushed them away and tamped down his frustration.

Against all his efforts, Dean would succumb over time. A particularly pushy woman would lure him back to her motel room, and he would do his best, just to get aroused for her, to show his interest. He would imagine her crying as she choked on his dick, and in reality she would smile, impressed by his show.

He'd get the job done, for her, making her cry out in pleasure beneath him, moaning and writhing, while his hands fisted in the tangled sheets beneath her, his knuckles white, itching with the need to grab her throat, and… he didn't want to think about 'and.' He thrust harder, trying to gain his pleasure quickly, so she would leave.

His need barely satisfied, that basic sexual urgency sated, Dean would throw the women out, often rudely, and even frightening them with his sudden change in behavior. He would collapse into the bed they'd just rutted in, inhale the woman's scent in the pillows, and wrap his hand around his cock. He would pull it fiercely and picture the woman, surrounded by the hellscape he remembered so well, and subject her to his darkest desires of blood, pain, and fire.

There was a beautiful brown haired woman in Dean's arms, eagerly unbuttoning his pants, tugging at them and groping his cock. As usual, he willed himself to show his interest, imagining the woman broken on his rack.

The woman had pursued Dean, and it had been over a month since he'd last been with a woman. His need had been growing, hard to ignore, and she had been difficult to turn down. So he brought her back to his motel and laid her out on the bed, even more gently than he had treated a woman before Hell. Overcompensating.

He wanted to grab her throat, so he caressed her cheek.

He wanted to bite her lips and taste her blood, so he kissed her gently.

He wanted to thrust his cock in her, while she was still dry, so he smoothed his hands over her hips.

"Hey," she whispered to him, leaning in close, pressing her curves to him. "Can I ask you to do something?"

"Anything you want, sweetheart," Dean said, his most charming grin in place. It made his face hurt.

"Wanna get a little rough? It gets me really wet," the woman smiled at him seductively. Dean's heart thumped hard in his chest. His cock throbbed. Images of the woman's face, black and blue, crying, burned behind his eyelids.

"No… I couldn't…" Dean said breathlessly, pushing the desire down with great effort.

"Aren't you a gentleman," the woman teased. "I can take it. Come on." The woman took Dean's hand and put it to her own throat. "Just a little squeeze, honey. You'll like it."

Dean swallowed hard, seeing his hand, large and strong and callused wrapped around the delicate length of her throat. Against his will, he squeezed lightly, felt the soft flesh give beneath his hand. He let out a deep groan, closing his eyes. He imagined his fingers piercing the flesh, the blood running in rivers over her clavicles.

"Oh, yes…" the woman gasped. "Smack my mouth. I've got such a dirty mouth…"

Dean's other hand floated up, shaking, hovering inches from her face. A light tap landed on her cheek and the woman pouted at him.

"Smack my filthy mouth," she demanded.

Dean pulled his hand away. A little more speed. A little harder.

"Yes... That's it. More," the woman purred.

Again. A little faster. A little harder.

"Ah…" she gasped, stung by the blow.

Faster. Harder. His grip tightened.

"Ow… wait…"

Dean's hand squeezed around her throat, bruises forming, gasps eking out of her. His cock pulsed harder as the fear formed in her eyes, dilating her pupils wide, like an animal, and he raised his hand higher.

Dean's hand was grabbed, hard, strong, unmovable, and the woman beneath him screamed. Wild eyed, Dean looked to the hand grabbing his own, his desire quickly turning to rage and hatred. His other hand slipped from the woman's throat to form a fist, to strike out.

But Castiel held his hand.

Castiel touched two fingers to the screaming woman's head, and she fell silent, asleep.

"This cannot go on," Castiel said.

"Help me," Dean said, his voice wet and trembling.

They were in a different motel room. The other abandoned to the woman, who was left with no memories of her brush with a monster released from Hell.

Dean was laid out on the bed, still naked and Castiel had his wrist, tight in his grip, unrelenting. Though Dean was not struggling, Castiel held him down while he knelt on the side of the bed, looming over Dean's panicked and terrified body.

"I'm broken Cas… What they did to me…" Dean babbled.

"You suffered under Hell's touch for forty years, Dean. This is to be expected. I can fix it."

"Please…" Dean groaned.

"All you need is a touch of Heaven."

Already an hour had passed, and Dean was still trying to wiggle free of Castiel's grasp. He'd wanted help, but this wasn't what he'd been expecting. He'd expected a pep talk, being locked up, maybe even a little two fingered angel mojo pressed into his forehead, not lying out naked on a bed and being fondled in a very PG way by a fully clothed, male, angel.

Castiel held Dean down on the bed, stretched out on his belly, holding both the man's hands in one of his. He knelt on the backs of Dean's thighs, holding him down, and ignoring as Dean occasionally kicked up at the knee, trying to dislodge Castiel from his back. But aside from that, Dean was so completely pinned that he could only move tiny increments of his body, as he tried to escape.

"C'mon… Let me go," Dean growled. He jerked again, trying to buck Castiel off of his back, but the angel was like a solid rock on top of him. Not heavy, but completely unmovable. Castiel's grip was firm, but so careful it was not painful, not even as Dean struggled.

With his free hand, Castiel ran his fingers, feather light and cool, up and down Dean's spine, again and again. Occasionally, he shifted to the side, and played them over Dean's ribs, making his skin twitch from the ticklish sensation.

Once in awhile, he bent low to press a soft kiss to the back of Dean's flushed, red neck, but pulled away quickly as Dean jerked his head back, trying to butt it against Castiel's face. Castiel drew away not because he was afraid of Dean hurting him, but of Dean hurting himself against his steel hard flesh.

"If you calm down, I will turn you over so we can talk," Castiel said, above Dean's ear, pulling away again when Dean's head jerked back. Dean struggled for a moment more, and then let himself relax, going limp against the mattress, though he was still panting hard.

Castiel waited until Dean's breath slowed, and then flipped him over, his angelic strength making it easy to manhandle Dean's body and keep him under control. Turned over, he could look Dean in the eye and see the swirl of emotions there. Anger, confusion, fear, and more that were equally unpleasant.

"Let me go, Cas," Dean growled.

"You need to be retrained Dean. This is the only way," Castiel said, running his fingers lightly down Dean's chest. "Your body must learn to respond to pleasure again. I am the only one strong enough to do this for you."

"Not gonna work," Dean said through grit teeth as Castiel caressed him, wishing the angel was using his nails, clawing him open, so he would feel something. Castiel's light touch was like nothing but air in comparison to his time in Hell.

"It will take time. But I am very patient."

Castiel held Dean down for the rest of the night, letting his hands caress and graze him, occasionally planting the chastest of kisses along his body, light and cool. Dean struggled and thrashed until he was exhausted and fell asleep, still tangled and wrapped in the angel's limbs. Castiel watched over him in the night, to make sure he could not even escape into his nightmares, and left his sleep blissfully blank.

The next morning, Dean awoke in the motel room with Sam. Castiel was nowhere to be seen, and Dean was relieved. He packed his bags quickly, snapping at Sam to get a move on so they could hit the road and find their next case.

Dean did not see or hear from Castiel for over a week, though the angel's words still rang in his ears. A promise and a threat all at once.

Despite Castiel's supposed therapy, Dean still felt the old tension, the fire burning in him, stoking his desire. Castiel had interrupted his conquest, and left him hungry. The torture at Castiel's hands had merely been a distraction, a plugging up of what he really wanted.

Another job done, Dean found himself alone in the motel room. Sam had been antsy and fidgety, and probably sick of being in such close proximity of his brother. They both needed some time apart, so Sam had disappeared with his laptop to nerdy places unknown. Dean was left to consider watching Casa Erotica, or going to a bar.

His eyes slid shut at the thought of the bar, and unbidden, behind his eyelids, he saw red. His eyes flew open before further images could invade, and already, his heart was racing, and the panic was overwhelming.

"Not again…" Dean moaned to himself. But then the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the air in the motel room was displaced, and a firm hand settled on his shoulder.

"Never again," Castiel said in his rough voice, and though the words were perhaps meant to be a comfort, Dean couldn't help but feel his skin crawl at the memory of the last time he'd seen Castiel. He pulled away from the angel.

"Not that again, either," Dean snapped.

"Your retraining is non-negotiable, Dean. I cannot allow these desires to fester inside you." Castiel pushed Dean toward the bed, divesting him of clothing as he went. Dean tried to struggle, but was useless against Castiel's strength.

"And how's cuddling supposed to help?" Dean resisted the push down on the bed, but found himself there anyway, on his back, with Castiel straddling him. "I'm just more frustrated than before."

"It will be difficult at first. But given time, you will find pleasure in this, as you did before."

Castiel silenced another protest by sealing his lips against Dean's. It was not so much a kiss, as a press of the angel's mouth against the other man's. An unmoving pressure that broke quickly as Castiel moved his ministrations elsewhere.

Again he held Dean's hands over his head, his grip unyielding, but not painful, no matter how much Dean tried to break free. With his other hand, he grazed Dean's flesh, finding the few new scars he'd already accrued in his short time back on earth, and caressing them lovingly.

Castiel's lips followed his hands, and his tongue followed his lips, a light pink dart of flesh peeking out to taste Dean's skin. Dean watched Castiel touching and tasting him, and imagined cutting the angel's tongue off. A surge of pleasure went through Dean's body, and Castiel looked up, surprised.

"Clearly, this is not distracting enough," Castiel said, looking disappointed.

"You just suck at seduction."

"Perhaps more intense sensation will get through to you."

Castiel moved off of Dean and knelt beside him, though he still held Dean's hands firmly. He surveyed Dean's body, strained muscle and sweat, and he focused between Dean's legs and the limp, disinterested sex that lay there.

Castiel reached out, his hand moving directly for Dean's cock, but Dean jerked away, turning himself onto his side, using his own body as a shield against Castiel's touch.

"No way I'm letting you grab my junk," Dean growled.

Castiel fastened a stern eye on Dean, and turned him flat onto his back again, his hand almost bruising strong against Dean's hip. He kept their eyes locked as he again reached for Dean's cock, and carefully, wrapped his hand around it. Dean let out a hiss and closed his eyes.

Castiel stroked Dean slowly and firmly, the flesh in his hand responding naturally to the stimulation of touch, growing harder and bigger in his hand. Dean bucked beneath him, slowly rolling his hips, and occasionally growling with frustration.

"C'mon, Cas. I need more than this," Dean grumbled, licking his lips.

Castiel nodded his head in acquiescence and leaned down to claim Dean's mouth. He was startled and almost drew back as Dean surged forward, and his tongue thrust into Castiel's mouth, seeking, plundering, hungry.

Castiel let him, opening his mouth for Dean's invasion, and moved his tongue with Dean's. He battled with Dean, breathing hot and deep with him, swallowing the deep sounds that flowed from the man's throat, and muffling them in his own mouth.

There was a change in Dean's body, an upsurge of chemicals and pheromones which Castiel noted. He felt as Dean's cock became wet at the tip, and he smeared over that liquid with his thumb, manipulating the slit for more, and smoothing it over the length of Dean's cock. It made him slippery, and Castiel's hand moved more easily.

Castiel pressed his tongue deeper into Dean's mouth, licking at the roof of it, and the back of his teeth, tasting the hunter, until suddenly, there was an intense pressure, and then a little tug of pain. Castiel pulled back quickly at the taste of blood in his mouth. He looked down at Dean, who was grinning broadly, his mouth a bloody mess.

He wanted to scowl and say "Damn it, Dean," the disappointment and disapproval clear in his voice, but he would have to wait a few moments to heal, because most of his tongue was still in Dean's mouth.

The next time Castiel appeared for Dean's treatment, he left the hunter on his stomach, unable to turn over, not even his face, as Castiel held him still.

"It's your own fault for sticking your tongue in places it doesn't belong."

"Places with teeth anyway," Castiel said as he let his hand graze over the swell of Dean's ass. Dean squirmed fitfully, but couldn't move. Castiel wasn't holding him down with his hands anymore, but with his grace. His head was held down on the pillow, facing away from Castiel. His arms were weighed down at his sides, and his legs were spread wide open across the bed.

Dean groaned loudly as he felt hot breath against his ass, and then Castiel's hands grabbed his cheeks and spread him wide. The hot air tickled against the cleft, and Dean could feel himself twitching. When Castiel's tongue swiped along his hole, Dean let out a gasp, and squirmed a little more.

Castiel's tongue, hot, and wet and firm worked against his hole, getting him wet, swirling around the tight muscles, and making Dean moan fitfully. He tried to move, wanting to roll his hips, but wasn't even allowed that much leeway, bound under Castiel's grace.

In all his long life, he'd never had a girl do this to him in bed. And in Hell, the sensations he'd been subjected to were of an entirely different sort. Leave it to an angel of the Lord to give Dean Winchester the first rim job of his life.

"Cas… Lemme move," Dean groaned against the pillow.

Castiel shook his head, grinding the stubble of his jaw against Dean's cheeks, another new sensation. Instead though, he pushed his tongue deeper, past the loosened ring of muscle, and deep inside Dean's body.

Dean gasped and shuddered at the sensation, his insides going tight as Castiel breached his body, invading it with this light, teasing, but somehow intense pleasure. Castiel's tongue moved deep inside him, wiggling and stroking and swirling around, making him wet and loose, and hungry for more.

"Cas! Please!" Dean begged, not knowing what he was asking for, but again, Castiel shook his head, delved deeper, and freely tasted the most intimate part of Dean's body.

Dean's cock was trapped beneath him, pressed between his belly and the bed. It was hard and throbbing and aching with neglect. He couldn't touch it, and couldn't move enough to even hump the bed, just to get a little more friction. His hips squirmed, back against Castiel's mouth, forward against his cock, but it wasn't enough.

"Please... please more… Cas, please…" Dean babbled, the words spilling out in his feverish arousal. He wasn't even sure what he was asking for.

Castiel pulled away from Dean's hole, and rested his cheek on his ass, rubbing it with his stubble. Dean moaned from the cessation of pleasure, so Castiel replaced his tongue with his thumb, rubbing Dean's wet hole, but not pushing in.

"What do you want, Dean?"

"More. Just a little more."

"The last time you asked for more, you bit off my tongue."

"Just… let me move a little. Just my hand, Cas. Or my hips. Please."

Castiel considered this for a moment, putting a little more pressure on his thumb, so that it pushed inside Dean's body. Dean groaned, and Castiel could feel the way the muscles in the rest of his body strained, wanting to be free.

With a nod from Castiel, Dean's right hand and his hips were freed. Without hesitation, Dean thrust his hand under his hip and grabbed his cock, started stroking it fast and hard. His hips pumped into his own hand and he grunted with pleasure.

"Cas… Cas…" Dean moaned, his arm a blur of motion. "Tongue my ass. C'mon, wanna feel it."

Dean groaned deeply as Castiel returned, tonguing him as he'd requested, pushing deep inside his body, wet and wriggling. He gasped and squirmed, his body still largely immobile, except where it counted. His hand moved faster, trying to push himself over the edge, focusing on the unique sensation of Castiel's flexible tongue in his ass, licking and sucking noisily as he jacked himself off.

A few more hard strokes, and Dean went off, spilling come all over his hand as his body shuddered with pleasure. His muscles tightened valiantly around Castiel's tongue, trying to hold him in while the angel still worked him hard, still thrusting his tongue into Dean's clenching hole while he rode his orgasm.

Slowly, Castiel pulled away, and admired his work. Dean was glowing with pleasure, a happy, healthy release of his pent up sexual energy.

"I think you've made some good progress tonight," Castiel said, loosening his grace so Dean could move freely. The man murmured and stretched his stiff limbs, wallowing in his freedom of movement.

"Thank you, Cas," Dean said and soon fell asleep.

Castiel smiled.


The victory was short lived. That very night, Dean dreamed of Castiel, again using his tongue in the most wicked of ways. Except in the dream, Castiel was tied down, with Dean straddling his face, grinding down on the angel to force his pleasure.

"Do you like that, dick?" Dean growled triumphantly. He leered down at Castiel who was pinned to his table, long, rusted nails going all through his legs and arms, and even his throat, leaving the angel unable to move, as Dean had been.

"You've got a nasty tongue," Dean said, sitting up and turning around to look at Castiel. "I ought to cut it out. Again." The scalpel was in Dean's hand, and he was prying open Castiel's jaw, when a hand grabbed his wrist.

"Dean," a low voice rumbled.

Dean looked up, and was greeted by another Castiel who looked extremely disappointed. Dean felt the same way.

"You're spoiling all my fun," Dean said.

"That's rather the point," Castiel said wearily, and touched Dean's forehead with two fingers.

Dean woke suddenly in the motel bed, covered in sweat, but shivering with cold. He looked around frantically, until he found Castiel, sitting at the foot of the bed.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered into the dark. "I didn't want to do that."

Castiel was silent for a moment, as he regarded his human. "We still have much work to do."

Castiel increased the number of sessions, claiming Dean twice a week, after Sam had fallen asleep. He would appear in the night, and then whisk Dean away to another empty motel room, where he would torment him with soft caresses, touches and kisses.

Dean still resisted and argued some, his skin crawling and craving a different sort of touch. For each bite of pleasure he got from Castiel, in his sleep, the victory would be overridden by a nightmarish parody of it, perverting the pleasure into pain and torment. So when Castiel tried it again, Dean would only be reminded of the scene from his dreams.

"You are very stubborn, Dean," Castiel said to him one night. He was sitting on Dean's ass, and had been giving him a deep tissue massage, using finely scented oils, trying to stimulate all of Dean's senses for pleasure. Dean was enjoying it, though it was making him groggy.

"Dunno why you still bother. Just gonna dream about… Massaging you with a cheese grater or something," Dean mumbled into his arms. "Can't you just make it so I don't dream at all?"

"The subconscious is delicate and important. If I suppress it while you sleep, it may lash out in other ways. I need to retrain your subconscious to not want to go to Hell on its own."

"My subconscious likes Hell. Hell is interesting and intense. This is just, you know, OK."

"Just OK?" Castiel asked, his hands going still on Dean's back.

"Yeah. OK. It feels nice and all…"

"But?" Castiel was learning to hear ellipses in his human's speech, knowing when something was being left unsaid, and needed a little urge to be spoken aloud.

"But," Dean said, rolling over onto his back, waiting for Castiel to resettle comfortably on his hips, and then looking up into his big blue eyes. "You won't have sex with me. You don't even take any of your clothes off. You've made me come a handful of times, but I haven't even seen your dick."

"I don't think it would be appropriate."

"You stuck your tongue in my ass."

Castiel had the decency to look sheepish at that. "You needed a little more stimulation to break through."

"And now I want a lot more stimulation."

"Penetrative sex is too intense. I worry it may trigger memories. It is better to keep our contact light and gentle."

"I'll be gentle," Dean said with a smirk, and he rolled his hips up under Castiel, making the angel bounce a little on top of Dean's hips.

"We will find another way," Castiel said, and he gave Dean a stern look of disapproval.

"And for tonight? When I dream about your torture massage?"

"Try positive thinking before you sleep."

"I am positive I will torture you in my dreams tonight."

"Dean…" Castiel said, his tone warning and disapproving again.

"I can't help it. As soon as you leave, all I can think about is the nightmares coming. I try not to, but I know they will."

"Then… then I won't leave. I will stay here until you wake up."

"Gonna stand over me like a creeper?"

"No. I will hold you while you sleep."

"Man, why's it always got to be cuddling?" Dean asked, making a face of disgust, but soon gave in to a sigh of acceptance. "Fine. But on one condition; you strip. You want me to have pleasurable contact? Nothing nicer than skin on skin."

Castiel looked at Dean, suspicious of some sort of trick, but Dean had his charming grin plastered on, and even his thoughts lacked any malicious intent. So, Castiel did as requested, and stripped. In the blink of an eye, his clothes disappeared and he sat naked on top of Dean. Dean gave a low whistle of appreciation and his hands went to Castiel's hips, slowly stroking down his thighs.

"Well, hello sexy tax accountant," Dean murmured his eyes scanning over Castiel's slim body, focusing on his lightly muscled chest, smooth belly, and then, between his legs.

"If you are going to be infuriating, I will put my clothes back on," Castiel said as he rolled his eyes and plucked Dean's hands off of his body.

"I'm just flirtin' a little," Dean said. He tugged Castiel down, so they lay chest to chest, and wrapped his arms around Castiel's waist, holding him there. Though he knew if Castiel wanted to pull away, Dean was in no way strong enough to hold him. Castiel did not pull away.

Castiel did glare at him though, and shifted them so that they were on their sides. They fumbled around a little, getting legs and arms comfortable around each other. Castiel found it easiest to lie on his back, with his legs thrown over Dean's, while Dean curled up close on his side, his head resting on Castiel's chest, and his arms thrown over Castiel's stomach, fingers gripping Castiel's side lightly, but possessively.

Once Dean was comfortable, his breathing evened out very quickly. The stress in his life, the massage, and the comfort of Castiel's body, warm against him, were enough to put him in the mood for sleep almost immediately.

Castiel himself prepared for a night of vigilance. He did not need to sleep, and so, he would keep an eye on Dean's dreams, ready to intervene when they turned dark, as they always did.

Dean woke up the next morning with shocking blue eyes looking at him. He jerked back for a moment, fully awake, and then took in his surroundings. He was back in the motel room with Sam, though his brother was still fast asleep. Dean suspected Castiel might have something to do with that.

"You didn't have a nightmare last night," Castiel said in a low voice, and Dean finally noticed that the angel had a broad smile on his lips. Broad for Castiel anyway, and he looked genuinely happy. There was hope in his eyes.

"Did you chase them off?"

"I didn't have to. Your subconscious didn't go there."

"So am I cured?" Dean asked, feigned hope in his voice. He knew better.

"That seems unlikely, but this is progress. I think it would be safe now to make other changes in your treatment."

"Such as?"

"I think sexual intercourse may be safe."

"Finally giving into my charms?" Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows at Castiel.

"Not with me," Castiel said, giving Dean an eye roll, and also extricating himself from the bed. In a blink, he was dressed again, in suit, crooked tie, and trench coat. "I think you should try having sex with a woman."

"What?" Dean asked, his mouth suddenly dry. "No, no way. You saw what I almost did to the last girl. I'm not going to risk that again."

"I'll be nearby if there is any trouble."

"I'm not ready," Dean insisted.

But Castiel insisted he was.

Dean had some difficulty picking up a woman. He'd always assumed it was so easy because of his good looks. He hadn't realized so much of it also depended on his confidence in his good looks. Now, still shell-shocked from his internment in Hell, and pushed out too early from the comforting nest Castiel had created for him, he was reluctant to find a partner.

His vision no longer swam with red when he looked at the women around him, that much at least seemed abated, that constant need to cause pain. But he still feared that it lurked beneath the surface, ready to rise up when the moment became heated.

Castiel had sent him to a bar to pick up a woman, and Dean had gone in reluctantly. He figured he would give it an hour or so, and then head home, back into Castiel's arms, claiming that he had failed, even though he made his best efforts.

He was finishing up his second beer, and looking at his watch, counting down the seconds when a pretty red head sidled up onto the stool next to him. Their eyes met, and each gave a polite smile before she put in her order with the bartender. Dean grazed his eyes over her carefully, leery that those flashes of red would burst up again behind his eyes. But the only red he could see was the fire in her hair, lightly curled and tumbling down her shoulders, making a neat frame around her breasts.

"You come here often?" the woman asked, and Dean was startled from his thoughts. He'd been thinking about how before, this woman would have been just his type, how he probably would have picked her out of the crowd himself and approached her earlier.

"No. Just passing through," Dean said, giving a friendly smile. Not quite his usual 'charm panties off' grin, but something usable. She smiled back.

"Sorry for the lame pick up," the woman said, with a depreciative smile. "I've been out of the game for a bit. My friends are trying to get me out, you know?" The woman pointed over to a booth of women in the corner, chatting and sipping their drinks while they laughed, having a good time in each other's company.

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean," Dean said.

"So, you'd actually be doing me a huge favor if you just walked out with me. It'd really get them off my back."

"Just walk out with you?" Dean asked, his charming grin making an appearance.

"Well…" the woman said, trailing off and grinning up at Dean.

By some miracle, Dean imagined, he was able to not only get it up, but also get himself inside the woman without once having to imagine her bloody or beaten. As a bonus, she seemed to be enjoying herself as well.

About halfway through it, Dean's worry started to ebb away, his dark thoughts of the inevitable visions that would assault him, or his pain inducing urges eased into those of pleasuring his partner, losing himself in the soft eagerness of her body.

As he pushed himself into her, again and again, drawing closer to release, he finally let go, let himself get lost in his pleasure and the feeling, letting the intensity of it wash over him. Then at his most vulnerable, just as his body crested the tide of orgasm, his subconscious took vengeance on his attempt at freedom.

The whole room shifted, and Dean felt like he did after he'd been teleported by Castiel, landed into another space so swiftly and unnaturally, his body didn't know how to react, leaving him breathless with his muscles tingling.

Dean was in Hell again, the walls painted with blood, and the screams of the damned ringing around him. There were piles of human flesh and limbs surrounding him, burying him to his waist, rotting around him and filling his lungs with the putrid smell of roasting meat. As Dean dragged in a breath to scream, he choked on the burning sulfur in the air, scorching his eyes, making them water and leak.

"Cas! Castiel!" he cried out, his breath gasping in the hot air.

"I'm here, Dean," Castiel said from behind him. Dean struggled through the piles of bodies surrounding him, trying to turn around, to find his savior, and when he did, and saw the angel, he screamed.

Castiel stood before him, a bloody, shredded, ruined mess. His skin was blackened and scorched. His entrails hung loose from his belly where it had been ripped open. Black holes gaped where his teeth had been. Fingers were missing. Chunks of flesh. One of his beautiful blue eyes.

Dean's screams grew more panicked as the monstrosity moved closer to him, the voice of the angel the only part that Dean could recognize anymore.

"Dean. It's all right. This is just in your head. I'm here for you."

With hands like bloody claws, Castiel reached out to Dean. Dean tried to scramble away, his heart pounding with terror in his chest as he climbed over the pile of bodies, trying to escape. But as always, Castiel was faster, and more determined. He caught Dean, and drew him close.

Dean felt the slither of Castiel's exposed flesh, the warmth of his blood, the crackle of his seared flesh, and struggled to get away, pushing and shoving at the mess, trying desperately to escape.

"Dean, please," Castiel called desperately as Dean struggled against him. He held the man all the tighter, and Dean's panic only rose, making him fight and thrash.

Suddenly, Dean was smothered, wrapped up so tight, he couldn't move, and couldn't see. The air around him cooled and soothed, smelled of fresh sea air, rolling hills of grass, the sweetness of the earth after a hard rain.

His skin met with something soft and smooth, wrapping around him completely, so everything was black, and cool, and muted. The only sound he could hear was his own panting breaths and pounding heart as they both slowed and calmed down.

"Cas?" Dean asked, his voice broken, unsure.

"I'm here," Castiel said from just behind him, a soothing whisper in his ear. His arms went around Dean's waist and tugged him flush against his body. The material wrapped closer, pressing tightly on Dean from all sides, keeping the nightmarish visions at bay.

"What is this?" Dean asked, pressing his fingers against his soft prison. It felt like silk and ice, soft, but unyielding beneath his fingers.

"My wings," Castiel said in his ear. Slowly, the wings loosened around Dean, easing him from the tight grip, but remaining close, grazing against his skin. Light poured in from above as the wings parted at the top, freeing both their heads from the enclosure.

Dean looked around, over the top of Castiel's wings. They were still in the motel room, standing several feet from the bed. The hellish landscape had totally disappeared, as well as something else.

"What happened to the girl?"

"She was very frightened by your… episode. I erased her memories and returned her to her home."

"Did I… Did I hurt her?"

"No," Castiel assured him.

"I told you I wasn't ready," Dean said, his voice accusatory, but when Castiel's eyes fell, guilt ridden, Dean pushed in closer to him, snuggling into the cool embrace of Castiel's wings. They fluttered around him and tightened.

"I won't let it happen again," Castiel said solemnly.

"You better sleep with me tonight then," Dean said. "And maybe keep these out," he added, fingering Castiel's wings. He gave them an appreciative look, studying them. The whole wing was smooth, and cool to the touch. He marveled at the color of them, white, pearlescent, and shimmery. Dean ran his fingers over the soft appendages, and felt them shiver under his touch.

Keeping his wings wrapped around Dean, Castiel led them back to the bed, laying down with Dean, and then wrapping him tightly in the soft, cool cocoon. Dean shifted within them, getting comfortable in the forgiving prison, and pressed against Castiel's body.

"Gonna sleep with your clothes on?" Dean murmured, already sleepy.

Castiel's lips quirked just a little, and then there was a rustle, similar to the sound of his wings. Dean pressed up against the new heat afforded by Castiel's naked skin. Sandwiched between soothing cool, and comforting warmth, he soon dropped off to sleep, the nightmares of Hell quickly forgotten.

Dean no longer resisted Castiel's 'cuddle therapy,' as he still called it. Instead, he sought it out, requesting Castiel stay almost every night, to hold him in his wings until he fell asleep. Castiel could hardly deny him the request, when it kept Dean so content and relaxed.

He did draw the line at nudity though, as much as Dean complained. He made a compromise by keeping his underwear on, a pair of tight, black briefs that had elicited a whistle from Dean the first time Castiel revealed them.

However, no matter how many disapproving looks Castiel gave to Dean, once they were in their own private room, away from a sleeping Sam, nothing seemed able to keep all of Dean's clothes on. He reveled in his nudity when Castiel was close to him in bed, and insisted on as much skin contact as possible, claiming it was the only way to keep his nightmares at bay. Against his will, Castiel found himself being oddly indulgent to Dean's whims.

"Dean," Castiel said quietly one evening, as Dean was lying mostly on top of him, and idly toying with the feathers on his wings. "I'm not sure what to do with you next as far as rehabilitation." He admitted this sadly, feeling like a failure as Dean was stuck at a plateau in the healing process, still prone to nightmares if Castiel was not around to protect him.

"Been thinking about that, too," Dean said, smoothing down the feathers he'd left in disarray. "Can I make a suggestion?"

"Of course," Castiel said, feeling pleased that Dean was being active in his own healing, taking a forward step with it. That is, until Dean reached between their bodies and grabbed Castiel's cock through the thin cotton of his underwear. Castiel let out a tired sigh and frowned. Mechanically, he grabbed Dean's hand and pulled it away, holding on to the man's wrist to make him behave.

"Dean, we've talked about this," Castiel said, his voice a light reprimand.

"Hear me out," Dean said, gently extracting his hand from Castiel's, giving him a look that promised he wasn't going to grope him right away. "You've been awesome. You've helped a lot, but you've been doing this all wrong."

"We've made great progress-" Castiel said, bristling immediately, but Dean silenced him with fingers at his mouth.

"It was a good start, but you forgot something. None of my nightmares are about getting tortured, they're about me being the torturer. I don't need to learn how to feel good again, I need to learn how to make the other person feel good."

Castiel gave Dean a stern look, knowing exactly where he was going with this. He'd already attempted several arguments to convince Castiel into engaging in more sexual activities, and Castiel had turned him down every time. Dean was amazingly stubborn though, and Castiel was finding it harder and harder to resist.

"Dean, as I have told you many times before, if you are feeling sexual urges, then you should try satisfying them with a woman-"

"No," Dean growled, and Castiel was momentarily surprised by the anger that had edged into Dean's voice, and the hint of panic in his eyes, the tightening of his muscles and racing of his heart. Castiel tightened his wings around Dean, tugging him closer. Immediately, Dean calmed down, his body relaxing more heavily on top of Castiel. He buried his face into Castiel's neck, his breath hot against the angel's ear.

"I can't do that with a woman. Not again," Dean said, his voice low. There was still some panic in his voice, as he recalled his last attempt at sex with a woman.

"I'll be there to pull you back again."

"I can't go to that place again. Not even for a second. It needs to be you," Dean said, whispering into Castiel's ear, clinging to him tighter.

"Dean…" Castiel murmured, heartened by Dean's trust in him, worried about his reliance.

"You don't need to do anything. Just let me touch you a little bit," Dean said, his voice steadier than usual. His hand, which had been resting innocently on Castiel's chest started to move, rubbing small circles, and then finding a nipple to graze it lightly.

"Dean," Castiel said. The one word was a warning, but he didn't move to grab Dean's hand like he usually would.

"All I need is my hand," Dean said as he rubbed his thumb firmly over Castiel's nipple until it grew hard from the attention. "I won't do anything else. Just one hand. Let me try this, please?"

Castiel was surprised by that one word, that 'please.' It was a word he didn't hear often from Dean, and he was certain it was a word he didn't use often with other people either. It proved an effective argument mirrored by the gentleness of Dean's hand against his chest, a light, silky pressure, a touch vaguely intimate and personal.

"If we do this," Castiel started, watching as Dean's hand moved to his other nipple, rubbing it too until it perked up. "Then I won't stay here with you tonight."

Dean's hand froze on Castiel's chest and he lifted his head to level a glare at Castiel, his mouth a firm line. "Stay until I fall asleep," he insisted.

Castiel gave one small nod in consent, and was rewarded with a surprisingly warm and charming smile from Dean just before he buried his head into Castiel's neck again. His hand immediately started moving, flicking Castiel's nipple as a reminder, but then moving lower.

Castiel felt his heart rate pick up, and his breathing deepen, coming faster, like he was out of breath. He'd never been touched like this before. Not by an angel, and certainly not a human. He had done research in order to tend to Dean, and knew all the details of copulation and sexuality he would need in order to understand what Dean needed. But he had not anticipated any of these activities being performed on himself.

When Dean's hand got to the thick band of his underwear, Castiel's breath hitched, and Dean paused. His fingers lingered there for some minutes, actually making Castiel more anxious with anticipation.

"You OK there? You're twitching like a nervous virgin," Dean said with a short, teasing laugh. Castiel went stiff under Dean, and could feel his cheeks getting warm. He didn't say anything. Dean sat up and looked at him curiously.

"Really?" he asked. Castiel noted an odd gleam in Dean's eyes, something that made his heart flutter a little more rapidly. He gave a small nod, barely noticeable, and Dean's face cracked on a big grin. Castiel's heart gave another jump.

"I'll take good care of you," Dean promised, a light whisper on his lips. He leaned down again, his lips close to Castiel's, and the angel closed his eyes, waiting for the kiss. But then he opened his eyes when Dean moved away, settled down against him once more, and pressed his face against Castiel's neck.

"I did say just my hand," Dean said, his voice teasing and carefree again. Castiel found it irksome that Dean was so obviously in control and in his element, while he felt like a bundle of frayed nerves, unable to understand the reactions of his body.

Again, Dean's hand was at the waistband of his underwear, but this time he did not hesitate. His hand slid underneath with ease, and achingly slow, wrapped around Castiel's cock. Castiel's breath caught again, and then he let it out in a soft sigh as Dean's hand caressed him gently. It felt like Dean was shaping him, urging the blood to rush down to his cock, urging it to rise up, to grow hard, and thicken.

The underwear suddenly felt too constricting, and Castiel let out a small gasp of relief as Dean pushed the underwear down, releasing Castiel's cock into the air. And then his hand started moving, up and down steadily, more of those soft, gentle caresses. Castiel's hips moved up in kind, shifting counterpoint to each stroke, grinding up and down like he had seen Dean do before when he was seeking more.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" Dean murmured. His lips were against Castiel's neck. His words puffed out on hot breaths, his lips caressing Castiel's skin. Castiel murmured back a small sound of agreement and pushed his hips up harder, faster, silently asking Dean to do the same.

Dean's hand tightened around Castiel's cock, and the angel let out a heady moan, his eyes sliding shut automatically. But he snapped them open again, so he could watch the man's hand twist and jerk around his own flesh, filling him with unimaginable sensation.

"You do this to yourself sometimes?" Dean husked into Castiel's ear. His hand still moved steadily on Castiel's cock, and Castiel had a hard time concentrating on his words, but once he'd sorted them out, and dredged up a tiny blush, he nodded.

"Thinking about me?" Dean asked, that teasing, carefree tone in his voice again. Castiel nodded once more, feeling even more embarrassed to admit that. After millennia untouched, and frankly, not even curious, one simple man had raised the curiosity in him for pleasures of the flesh, inciting him to that personal abuse after particularly heated therapy sessions.

Dean groaned against Castiel's throat when he felt that nod, and his body pressed up tighter against Castiel, his groin slotting perfectly against Castiel's hip so that the angel became aware of Dean's eager erection pressed against his skin. It was hot, and wet, and rubbing against him just slightly as Dean's hips rolled slowly to the same pace as his hand.

Castiel shuddered at the touch of Dean's cock against his skin. He was surprised, though he shouldn't have been, by Dean's arousal. He hadn't touched the man, and yet he was just as aroused as Castiel, throbbing and dripping against him. He resisted his urge to grab Dean's cock, and mimic his technique.

With Dean pressed up against him, panting in his ear, rubbing against his hip, and stroking his cock with firm and attentive caresses, Castiel was undone. The pleasure flooded through him, body and mind, and he succumbed to his first orgasm afforded from another living being. He gave out a low, but uncontrollable cry, and his wings tightened around them both, fluttering and thrashing around them as he spilled into Dean's hand. Vaguely, he was aware of a twin splash of heat against his hip, of Dean's grunt of orgasm against his neck. And then both of them lay still, panting lightly.

"Good? Was it good?" Dean whispered into Castiel's ear, his voice eager and concerned, waiting for validation. His hand remained loosely circled around Castiel's cock, his fingers mingling with Castiel's seed.

"Mmm," Castiel murmured in affirmation, nodding as well.

"Good," Dean said, pleasure and contentment clear in his voice, his worry and concern washed away completely.

"Do you feel all right?" Castiel asked tentatively, and a little clinically. Dean let out a huffed laugh and held up his hand, covered in Castiel's semen.

"Better than all right," Dean said, and brought his hand to his mouth. He licked first one finger, and then another, making noises of delight as he savored the taste. Castiel could feel his cheeks redden at the sight of Dean sinfully enjoying the taste of him.

"Do I pass the test, doctor?" Dean asked, once he'd licked his fingers clean.

"That remains to be seen. We will have to see if there is any result… or fall-out from this," Castiel said, trying to make his voice sound stern and professional, even while he could feel Dean's semen was dripping off his hip and into the sheets below.

"And if there isn't, maybe tomorrow night…?" Dean trailed off and grinned wickedly at Castiel.

"We'll see. Go to sleep," Castiel commanded, flustered by Dean's grin.

That wicked, satisfied smile still playing on his lips, Dean settled in for sleep, curling in even tighter against Castiel than usual. The angel waited until Dean was fully asleep before carefully extracting himself, careful not to wake the man up. Dean murmured unhappily in his sleep, but settled down when Castiel slid a pillow into his place.

Just to check, Castiel took a peek into Dean's subconscious, worried their activities might lead to more of Dean's usual sadistic fantasies, a nightmarish parody of what had happened in reality. Castiel was expecting the worst, ready to shut the dream down and wake Dean up, but instead, turned incredibly red as Dean dreamed of several explicit sexual activities involving Castiel crying out in ecstasy, rather than torment. Castiel quickly withdrew from the dream and left the room to contemplate the rest of Dean's treatment.

Dean remained nightmare-free for three whole days without Castiel sleeping in the same bed with him. Naturally, this was not by Dean's design, as he prayed to Castiel each night as he climbed into bed alone, but was pointedly ignored. Castiel remained nearby, watchful and wary, but kept his presence unknown. Annoyed, Dean would eventually fall asleep, and his subconscious seemed content to play around with Castiel, leaving him naked and mewling as Dean plied him with pleasure in his dreams.

It wasn't until the fourth night, when Dean had coupled his usual prayer with fervent masturbation, Castiel's name falling from his lips like sin itself, and then finally falling asleep, sticky and sated, that the nightmares returned.

But they were standard, disjointed, discolored, leaving Dean vaguely panicked in his sleep, but not so sure that he was reliving Hell, rather than just dreaming it. Still, Castiel hastened to his bedside, and woke him gently. Dean woke with a start, his body a jumble of nerves ready to strike out, before relaxing instinctively once he realized Castiel was nearby.

"Gonna give me abandonment issues," Dean said sleepily, his voice slightly reprimanding, even as he pulled Castiel down onto the bed, easily, and tugged him close.

"I am always nearby," Castiel said, sliding into the bed and Dean's embrace easily. Castiel's clothing disappeared in a whisper, a silent apology for his absence.

"Creeper," Dean murmured, even as he greedily caressed Castiel's bared skin, his hands skimming everywhere, naturally and confidently.

"You've made excellent progress. You've been sleeping well, and this nightmare was not as vivid as others. Just a shadow of them."

"Yeah," Dean grunted, his muscles tensing at the thought of the nightmare. "But I had one, so I guess you're back for another therapy session?"

Dean was giving Castiel his best, charming, confident grin, but Castiel could see the doubt in his eyes, the worry that Castiel would say no, like he always had before.

"Yes. I am back for more therapy," Castiel said, and smiled when he saw the relief in Dean's eyes. "Should I leave it in your hands again?" Castiel asked, putting just the tiniest emphasis on the word 'hands.'

"You should. But tonight, I'll just use my mouth," Dean said, and tugged Castiel in to seal their mouths together.

A small noise of pleasure escaped Castiel's lips as Dean kissed him. And he was amused that he'd gotten his first hand job from the man before he'd gotten his first kiss. Well, first kiss without his tongue being bitten off. This time, he let Dean take the lead, mimicking his motions with his skillful tongue, tangling with it languidly.

The kiss ended too soon, with Dean pulling away, smiling at Castiel with a look in his eye that promised so much more. His mouth stayed close, trailing kisses over Castiel's chin, and down his neck. He licked with his tongue, and gave soft, little sucks until he got to the juncture between Castiel's throat and shoulder. He lingered there for some time, worrying the flesh with teeth, tongue, and lips. When he pulled away, he admired the dark purple bruise he left behind, and continued his journey downward.

True to his word, Dean used "just" his mouth. His hands were planted firmly on the bed on either side of Castiel, not touching him. And while their bodies were close enough to exchange body heat, there was no skin to skin contact. Castiel might have minded, wanting a little more, except that Dean was being exceptionally distracting with his mouth, using it wickedly against his nipples, and delving into his navel, sucking and licking. Each touch was hot, wet, and arousing, making Castiel's erection start to throb in anticipation.

Dean's hot breath preceded his mouth, a promise of what was to come. Castiel felt that heat at the base of his cock, as Dean worked down lower, ghosting through the coarse hair. Finally, lips met straining skin, a light, open mouthed kiss. Castiel let out a soft moan, encouraging, and it grew deeper as Dean worked his mouth over Castiel's cock, kissing his way up the length, sucking lightly, like he had on Castiel's torso. When he finally got to the tip, his tongue darted out to steal the pre-come beading through the slit, about to break free and drip.

Castiel let out a sharp cry as Dean sucked the tip of his cock into his mouth, and worked it over with his tongue. The sensation, while softer than Dean's hand, was immediately more intense, more focused. An instinct overtook Castiel, and his hands flew to Dean's hair, threading through it, holding on tightly. He looked down and could see Dean smirking back up at him, with his lips wrapped sinfully around his cock.

Dean took him in deeper, dredging up more sounds from deep within Castiel's body, little sounds and gasps and whines that he couldn't control. He felt like he was melting under Dean's ministrations as the man took him deeper, sucking and licking around the most sensitive of flesh.

Unconsciously, Castiel moved his hips, pushing them up into Dean's mouth, wanting more, and deeper. But Dean wanted him still, and despite his promise, lay his hand on Castiel's hip and held him down, looking up to give him a reprimanding glare. Heat flushed in Castiel's chest at that look.

Castiel watched, mesmerized, as Dean's head bobbed up and down above his hips. Each dip took a little bit more of Castiel into his mouth, surrounding him with wet heat. Dean laved his tongue on the thick, throbbing vein, worrying it, and making Castiel shiver and shake with each press.

With one final deep breath through his nose, Dean sank all the way down, letting the head of Castiel's cock nestle into the back of his throat for a moment, before pulling back up again, leaving thick, sticky strands of saliva in his wake. He went back down again, sucking hungrily, paused a moment, and then took Castiel all the way again, and again. With each press he held Castiel's cock head snuggly, milking and caressing this most sensitive part.

Castiel only lasted a few more passes, overwhelmed by the tightness and heat of Dean's mouth, and the reverential way he worshipped it with his tongue. He eked out a small noise, even as his hips stuttered and shook, showing his body's natural warning. Dean drew back a little, but kept his lips wrapped tightly around Castiel's length.

Castiel let out soft, shuddery sighs and whimpers as he came, his cock throbbing out each pulse, urged on even more by Dean's continuously suckling mouth. Dean continued working him over, even after Castiel finished, and he started to go soft. He gave little cries of protest at the continued stimulation, and finally, with a not so gentle tug, pulled Dean off of his cock.

Immediately, Dean was up against him and their mouths were sealed together. Castiel could taste himself in Dean's mouth, but paid it little mind as Dean kissed him hard and deep, twining his tongue with Castiel's to taste and tease him all at once.

"Stay tonight," Dean panted against Castiel's mouth once he finally pulled away. His voice was a light command, almost a question, but not quite. Castiel barely noticed it as he admired the wet, reddened, well-used look of Dean's lips.

"I cannot," Castiel said, his voice sterner than he felt. He wanted to wrap Dean up in his wings, settled on his chest, and watch him as he slept. He wanted to be there when he woke up. He wanted to feel more pleasure with this man.

"Stay until I fall asleep?" Dean asked, this time, his voice less confident than before. Certainly a question rather than a command.

"Small steps, Dean. Try to get to sleep on your own tonight. I will be close by if your nightmares return," Castiel said, his words a promise, even as he slid out of bed and his clothes reappeared, arranged neat and clean on his body.

There was a small tug on Castiel's sleeve, and he turned back to the bed to look at Dean who was leveling a glare at him.

"Don't just disappear again without a word. You can come around, even if I don't need you."

Castiel nodded and disappeared.

"You indulge him," Uriel said, mild disgust in his voice.

"After forty years in Hell, he deserves a little indulgence," Castiel replied, his voice stern and even.

"He is a warrior. Or he was. He doesn't need to be coddled. He needs that fire in his veins for what is to come."

"These were my orders. If you prefer them to be done another way, you can take the task on yourself," Castiel said, making the offer casually, though he knew what his brother's response would be.

"I'd rather spend another forty years in the pit than dally with that mud monkey as you have. I suffer to see you follow these orders," Uriel said, and indeed, his voice did sound pained.

"I take no greater pleasure than to obey our Father's orders," Castiel replied.

"You are a better son than I, so willing to sully yourself. Be careful, brother. He needs only a 'touch' of Heaven, not all of it."

Uriel laughed and flew away. Castiel remained lost in thought, even as he felt a slight burn on his cheeks.

Dean passed another week without a nightmare, and despite his request, Castiel did not come around before he was needed. Dean had prayed for him for the first few days, but then gave up. Though Castiel sensed his anger, he did not arrive to appease it.

Another nightmare woke Dean up in the middle of the night, vague and bloody, but it still left his nerves jangling and his skin streaked with sweat.

"Cas," he called out softly into the dark motel room.

"I'm here," Castiel said after a quiet flutter of wings. The bed sank with his weight as he climbed onto it, and Dean shifted closer to him.

"You disappeared again," Dean murmured accusingly. "I called you, but you didn't come."

"You don't need me here every night. You're getting stronger."

"Yeah, well… I like it when you're here," Dean said gruffly, looking away as the words came out, somewhat reluctantly.

Castiel's heart thumped in his chest wildly at those words, and he had to force it to calm down and return to its normal pace before he could speak again.

"If I'm here too often, your dependence will only grow. Don't you want to sleep on your own in the future?" Castiel asked.

"No," Dean said simply, giving Castiel the tiniest hint of a grin. Castiel's heart thumped yet harder in his chest at the sight of that smile, and the sound of that one word, given without thought or hesitation.

"I should go," Castiel said, turning to stand up. Dean's hand went to his wrist though, and tugged. The pull was fruitless, as Castiel remained motionless, Dean's strength no match against his own, but he did look back over his shoulder. It was looking back that was the mistake.

"Don't you want to see what I can do with just two fingers?" Dean asked, his grin wider than ever, promising so much.

Castiel had already come twice, and he was lying in the puddle of it, shifting his hips and his quickly rising cock into the mess he had made. The mess Dean had forced him to make.

With just two fingers, working between Castiel's cheeks, pushing and pulling and stretching the rim of his anus, Dean had brought him to agonizing heights of pleasure, and once he had crashed down, Dean pulled him back up again. His pleas for Dean to stop went ignored, and his own willpower to escape from the bed seemed to be lost in the haze of pleasure. He knew he should get up, but he very much did not want to.

"See? I knew you would like this," Dean said, crooking his fingers again to hit that spot that made Castiel cry out wildly. His hips bucked against the bed, grinding his cock against it, slick with come.

"Please, Dean. Enough," Castiel whined, pleading with him again, knowing that he would only be able to stop when Dean was finished with him. He had no power to stop this intense pleasure himself.

"One more," Dean cooed, pressing his fingers deeper, relentless against Castiel's prostate at a hard pace. Castiel keened with pleasure, and wondered vaguely, and with great embarrassment, how Dean's fingers would compare with his cock. The thought alone sent him over again, crying out into the pillow as he clutched it with his hands, hearing the fabric rip. His hips jerked as he came, and he clamped around Dean's fingers, each spasm matching the pulse of his cock as he went through his third orgasm.

Dean withdrew his fingers slowly as Castiel came down from his high, panting and trembling from all the sensations raging through his body. His skin thrummed as Dean stretched out beside him, lining them up perfectly from toes to shoulders.

"I could do that to you every night," Dean said in a husky whisper, a dark promise that he delivered on a hot breath against Castiel's ear. Castiel shivered at the thought, surprised by the offer, and amazingly tempted by it. With great effort he sat up, embarrassed by the wet sounds he made as he pulled away from the sticky sheets.

"I should go," Castiel said, pulling away, but stopped again by a hand on his wrist. Again, he looked back at Dean, when he knew he shouldn't. There was still fire in Dean's eyes, and Castiel looked away, but that wasn't much better. His eyes fell to the arousal between Dean's legs, unsatisfied though Castiel had been several times.

"Do you want me to…?" Castiel asked vaguely, gesturing towards Dean's groin.

Dean's reply was a self-confident smirk. "You can do anything you want with me, if you stay the whole night."

Castiel gulped at that, and could feel his cock trying to rise again at that open-ended promise that made his imagination run wild. It took a great effort to stamp the erection down with his grace, to make it limp and disinterested. It took even greater effort to slip his wrist from Dean's, to stand, and put his clothes back on.

"I think you'll be all right sleeping on your own tonight," Castiel said, his voice low and unsteady. He could see the self-confident grin on Dean's face break for a moment, faltering just a bit before Dean could get it back up in place.

"Your loss," he said, his tone trying for nonchalance, and sounding instead a little petulant, even hurt by Castiel's rejection. But he covered it quickly by reaching for his cock and starting to stroke it, even while Castiel was still there. "Sure you don't want to stick around?" he asked, a little breathlessly.

Somehow, Castiel managed to fly away without climbing back into bed with Dean.

Castiel did not return to Dean for some weeks. He kept his eye on him when he could, but there were other concerns that also needed his attention. Seals were breaking all over the world no matter what they did, and then the most terrifying of all, angels were being killed.

It was his task to discover who was killing the angels and how. The obvious choice was to ask a demon. The obvious demon to ask was Alastair.

When Castiel returned to Dean, it was Heaven that urged him with its need. Their command worried him and he fought the urge to argue. He wanted to plead with them that Dean was not ready, that he would be set too far back again. But he did not argue. He did not explain. He did not hesitate.

It was when Castiel and Uriel failed in their mission to abstract information from Alastair that Castiel finally returned to the hunter. He went to him with sorrow in his heart, but the glory of Heaven in his eyes.

There were no grins, or smiles. No flirty language and devilish winks when they met again. In Dean's eyes was the warrior he had sought to repair, and finally, he could see that his mission had succeeded. And at the same time, he knew his mission would fail.

Dean disappeared.

Castiel searched all over the world for him, and his brother Sam, but both of them were completely gone, as if they had never been born, had never existed. When he went to his superiors, they shut him out, blaming him for the fall of the Righteous Man. They blamed him for not patching Dean up, making him strong enough to face Alastair. They said they were fixing his mistake, but they wouldn't say how.

When Dean and Sam popped back into existence, Castiel felt it within his grace, like a painful pull. He rushed to them, but found himself barred and held back by Heaven. He was told to wait, and watch, and see. If the Righteous Man was well, Castiel's mission would be complete. If he was not, well, they would see what else he could do.

So Castiel waited, and even when Dean prayed to him, called out for him, screaming for answers, he did not come, because he was forbidden. He was relegated to watching to see if Dean was strong enough on his own, and could accept his fate, or if he would need Castiel again, by his side, wrapped in his arms and wings to beat back the darkness.

When Dean dreamed again, and was sucked into the Hellish landscape of his nightmares, Castiel wasn't sure if he felt remorse or relief as he felt the bonds keeping him away from Dean break loose, allowing him to fly freely to the hunter's side, and pull him back to the light.

Dean woke with a choked cry dying in his throat, and lashed out mindlessly at Castiel as he wrapped his arms around Dean. Dean struggled the harder Castiel held him, still locked in the visions of his nightmares, brought forth more vividly after his session with Alastair.

It wasn't until Dean heard the sound of Castiel's wings unfurling, a sound he was conditioned to know, that he finally went still, shock and surprise evident in his body. When the wings, cool and soft wrapped around him, tugging him flush against Castiel's body, he let out a soft sigh as his whole body went limp and relaxed.

"Cas?" he asked, as if he still couldn't be sure.

"I'm sorry I did not come sooner. They wouldn't let me," Castiel said immediately. He could almost feel the accusation that had been on Dean's lips die out, swallowed up. He wanted Dean to know that this time his absence, despite Dean's pleas, was not his own choice.

"I met Zachariah," Dean said after a long pause during which he settled against Castiel, easing into him to find his comfort. "He erased all of my memories. Made me someone else…" Dean trailed off, the ellipsis in his speech clear, though this time, Castiel couldn't understand what was being left unsaid.

"Yes. I heard some of the details of that," Castiel said. He left unsaid that he hadn't been pleased with the idea. He hadn't liked how vulnerable the Winchesters had been in that world, lacking the knowledge and experience they relied on to keep themselves alive.

"And those girls I was with, when I freaked out. You erased their memories…" Dean said, trailing off yet again. This time, Castiel understood, and the answer he had to give Dean made his heart ache.

"I can't erase the memories from Hell."

"Zachariah did. For two weeks Dean Smith never had a single nightmare. He slept like a baby every night. Alone."

"What Zachariah did was dangerous. Any longer and your subconscious would have broken through, likely worse than before. The result could have been… I don't know if I'd be able to get you back from that."

"Your brothers are kind of dicks," Dean murmured.

Castiel bit back his automatic reply to that, not sure he quite had the energy to defend Heaven's actions, nor the inclination after what they'd done to him. He couldn't agree or disagree, so he decided to stay silent instead.

"So I guess we're back on the cuddle train, huh?" Dean asked.

"If you would like to continue your therapy from before, then yes," Castiel said, trying to keep his voice casual and even, so Dean couldn't sense how eager he was to touch him again, to offer him that comfort that only he could supply.

"We can. But it's with my rules now. You do what I say. You come when I call," Dean said with a fierce confidence that took Castiel by surprise. He found himself nodding without even thinking about it.

"Good. Come on. Let's go to another room," Dean said, sparing a glance at his brother sleeping in the other bed. With a nod, Castiel took them to another empty motel room, where they could turn on the lights, be noisy, and do what they liked without worrying about Sam.

"Clothes off," Dean ordered, and Castiel hurried to obey, not bothering with buttons and zippers, but making his clothes disappear from his body and appear folded neatly on one of the beds. He reveled in the amused and aroused look Dean gave him when he was so suddenly naked. He could have taken Dean's clothes off as well, but he found he liked watching the man undress himself, tugging off his shirt so it ended up inside out on the floor, and pushing his boxers down and kicking them off once they were at his ankles.

"I'm going to fuck you tonight," Dean said as he climbed onto the bed beside Castiel. Those words made Castiel's breath catch in his throat, and again, he found himself nodding without even realizing it. How many times had he denied Dean this? Where had he found the strength before when now, it was so easy to say yes?

"Lean back. Spread your legs," Dean ordered. His words were a little rough, showing his eagerness, and the way his body moved showed it even more. He was quick and hasty, grabbing Castiel's limbs and positioning him correctly, with his legs splayed wide open, one knee drawn up to spread himself even wider. Castiel felt himself getting aroused just from being looked at so intently.

"Shit. We forgot lube," Dean murmured once he realized his duffel bag was still in the other room with Sam.

"In my coat pocket," Castiel said, admitting this reluctantly and with a little embarrassment. Dean cocked a surprised eyebrow at him, but reached for Castiel's trench coat, searching the pockets until he found the little bottle of KY jelly.

"And what's an angel of the Lord doing with lube in his pocket?" Dean asked, his teasing smirk in place as he returned to the bed.

"Using just two fingers," Castiel said breathlessly, but with daring, wondering what sort of reaction Dean would make to that confession. He was rewarded with a deep, hungry growl, followed by a hungrier kiss as Dean plastered himself against Castiel, lining up their bodies perfectly to rub against each other as they kissed.

"Like this?" Dean asked. Suddenly, his hand was between Castiel's cheeks, his fingers wet and seeking, teasing against his hole and rubbing it gently. Castiel shuddered and moaned, nodding his head, encouraging Dean for more. Dean obliged, pushing one finger in slowly.

"You can go faster," Castiel urged, spreading his legs wider, willing himself looser for Dean's fingers, for the promise of finally having the man inside.

"Where's the fun in that?" Dean asked, smirking and confident as he took his time, easing in one finger, pushing it back and forth, achingly slow. For several minutes, despite Castiel's pleas, Dean used just one finger. Castiel gasped with relief when he finally added a second.

Dean tortured him with two fingers for even longer, and took great delight in the sounds Castiel made when he touched his prostate. Dean rewarded him with slow, sucking kisses, swallowing up the moans and cries that spilled from Castiel's lips. The burst of noise when he slid a third finger in escaped Castiel's lips unhindered as Dean leaned back to watch him writhe and shudder with pleasure.

"Dean, please…" Castiel asked huskily, the irony of him begging for Dean did not pass by unnoticed, when before, it had been Dean begging him for this.

Dean gave Castiel one last press, and a stretch, opening him up wide, making Castiel gasp, before he pulled his hand away. He smoothed lube over his cock absently as he looked Castiel over, admiring the work he'd done to make Castiel look thoroughly debauched, even though he wasn't just yet.

Dean hesitated for only a moment more, and Castiel was about to growl at him, or beg, or demand; anything to get Dean to move. He opened his mouth to speak, and the words caught in his throat, choked back on a cry as Dean finally pushed into him, claiming his mouth at the same time to penetrate him with tongue and cock.

Castiel continued making noise into Dean's mouth, short, breathless cries as Dean pushed further into him, achingly slow. His cries begged for more, to have Dean closer, and Dean did everything in his power to comply with those wordless pleas.

"There, right there," Dean murmured as he shifted his hips, pushed himself flush with Castiel. Lightening scattered across Castiel's nerves as Dean hit that spot inside that he had so insistently worked against with two fingers before. The same spot Castiel had found himself during the weeks he was separated from Dean. But his fingers, and even Dean's fingers, were nothing like the complete fullness of having Dean inside him.

"More," Castiel said, frustrated with Dean's stillness. He canted his hips up, inching them back and forth on his impalement. The movement dredged a moan from Dean's throat, making Castiel grin at his own success, his ability to give pleasure.

"Gonna give you so much more," Dean said, his voice low and husky. And Castiel realized how much of a strain it had been for Dean to go so slow, to take his time, to tease with pleasure and sensation for so long.

But not any longer. Dean drew his hips back slowly, one more time, hesitated just long enough for Castiel to form a protest in the back of his throat, but then it was cut short as Dean thrust in, hard and fast, rutting his cock up inside Castiel, and then doing it again and again. Dean growled and panted with each thrust, using all of his body to rock Castiel into pleasure.

Castiel could do nothing else but cling to Dean. He wrapped his arms tightly around Dean's shoulders, hunching himself closer to the man, and riding out the waves of pleasure assaulted onto his body. Noises spilled out of his throat, gasping, whining, crying noises that he'd only ever made in the presence of the man above him.

The pleasure tightened in Castiel, winding up inside his gut, pushed over and over again by Dean as the man thrust inside him, filling him up completely. Castiel writhed with it, pushing his body up, spreading himself wider, wanting and needing just a little bit more that he couldn't find the words to express.

But as he had learned to read the nuances of Dean's body language, knowing what the hunter meant without words, so had Dean learned how to read the angel, even in the throes of his passion, a new language for the both of them. He moved steadily, grinding all his pent up desire into Castiel, urging him towards higher and higher peaks. Then he sought out Castiel's mouth, with its pitiful cries, overwhelmed with pleasure, and claimed it, sealing his lips over Castiel's.

The light was blinding behind Castiel's eyes as Dean kissed him, and pumped into him, and held him, and touched him, and he was finally taken over, and his orgasm ripped though him, pounding through his body and mind and grace. He felt like he was falling, and that the only thing holding him fast, were the strong arms of the man that were wrapped around him, holding him through his orgasm.

Dean moaned through his own orgasm, shaking violently as Castiel spasmed around him, clinging even tighter than before, milking the pleasure out of Dean with the tightness of his own body. Dean pulsed hard into Castiel, filling him up, spending himself completely as satisfaction washed over him, completing him. Through great effort, he did not collapse on top of Castiel, but slid to the side, tugging Castiel with him, staying inside him and still holding him close.

"Dean, Dean," Castiel murmured, over and over again, nuzzling up even closer to Dean, like he wanted to climb inside him.

Dean smiled to himself, and ran his hands through Castiel's hair, soothing him as he came down, always rather proud of himself when his lovers ended up as a babbling mess in his arms. They laid together in silence for several minutes, until Castiel's body stopped shaking, and his breathing returned to normal. Finally, Castiel opened his eyes to look up at Dean.

"Are you all right?" Castiel asked. Dean let out a loud guffaw of a laugh at Castiel's question, and Castiel sat up, startled by his reaction. "Why are you laughing?"

"You're the one that got your cherry popped. I'm supposed to be asking you that," Dean said, still laughing a little.

"This is still your therapy. My emotional status is irrelevant," Castiel said, trying to be all seriousness and gravity. But it was hard to pull off with Dean still inside him, and a drying puddle of ejaculate on his stomach. Fortunately, Dean was in a good mood and humored him.

"Yes. I'm all right. I feel great. Better than I have in months."

"That may be the sex pheromones talking," Castiel said, looking at Dean doubtfully. "Perhaps if we-"

"Hey, remember when we said we were going to do things my way from now on?" Dean asked, giving Castiel a suddenly sharp and stern look.

"Yes," Castiel said, looking apologetic.

"Then stop analyzing everything. We're going to take a shower, and then we're going to come back to bed, and we're going to fucking cuddle, and you're going to be here when I wake up. Clear?"

"Yes," Castiel said, and allowed himself a small smile as he followed Dean out of bed.

"You've done excellent work with that Dean Winchester," Zachariah said.

"Thank you," Castiel murmured, trying not to feel too embarrassed with how much Zachariah knew of his work. Certainly, he knew all of the sordid details.

"That touch of Heaven bit? I especially liked that. If not for you, I doubt he'd have anything good to say about angels. He's rather stubborn in that regard."

Castiel nodded, as it seemed appropriate. He wasn't sure what else to say to his superior.

"I'd say he's pretty much as primed for battle as he's going to be, don't you think? A riper vessel I don't think I've ever seen."

"Vessel?" Castiel asked, surprised by the word, especially in relation to Dean. He'd never heard of such a thing.

"Yes, I think it's about time you heard the whole plan, Castiel. You shall be very integral in its execution."

When Castiel heard Heaven's plan for Dean, he rushed to Dean's side. He thought for a moment, that it may have been more prudent to slip a message to Dean in his dreams, but panic overwhelmed him. The thought of Dean being taken over by his brother Michael was terrifying. He couldn't image the cold and precise archangel looking out through Dean's eyes.

Castiel burst into Sam and Dean's motel room, and woke them immediately. Still foggy with sleep, he explained everything, stressing their immediate need to hide in order to escape Heaven's plan. They had been incredibly unhappy about the sigils he carved into their chests, griping loudly even as he transported them to a new motel, in a new state. They were officially on the run.

Though Dean and Sam were safely hidden from Heaven, it was easier to find Castiel, so he kept his distance, and only stayed for as long as he was needed, afraid he would attract Heaven's agents to the Winchesters.

Dean was not happy about this, but he was also preoccupied still trying to prevent Lucifer from rising, now without Heaven's help. The few stolen moments he could get with Castiel he cherished, even when they could do little more than be close together. Gratefully, his nightmares remained at bay, either because he was cured, or because he was too busy to be emotionally unbalanced. He didn't really care which one it was.

One night, after nearly three weeks without more than a few minutes with his angel, Dean clung to Castiel when he appeared in the motel room while Sam was out.

"We've got an hour. Don't run off," Dean demanded, holding Castiel so close that his breath gusted against the angel's lips hotly. Castiel nodded and allowed Dean to move him towards the bed, sitting down on it, and looking up at Dean.

"Dean, perhaps we could speak for a moment?" Castiel said quietly.

Dean paused, his hands already floating up toward Castiel's tie, to loosen it and pull it off. He dropped his hands, leery, because talking was not usually a good sign. Still, he put on a sporting smile, and nodded.

"You know that I was sent to you, to heal you, under Heaven's order. I was to rehabilitate you, so you could function and fight. It has been a long, hard road for you, but I think I can finally say that you are indeed cured," Castiel said with a faint smile on his lips.

"Well, I could have told you that. I haven't had a nightmare in weeks, even when you aren't around. So, can we get to the undressing part? Sam isn't going to be out all night."

Dean reached again for Castiel's tie, and almost succeeded in getting it off in one quick, practiced motion, but was stopped by Castiel's hands on top of his.

"Dean, I said you're cured. Don't you understand what that means?"

"Yeah, no more nightmares."

"No, Dean. This. You don't have to do this anymore," Castiel said slowly, pushing Dean's hands away and back. "You can… you can be with women again," Castiel said. He couldn't quite look Dean in the eye as he said it, and his voice hitched, just a little, despite his best efforts.

"Are you stupid?" Dean asked, and that made Castiel look up sharply, offended. "I don't want to sleep with women."

"You don't?" Castiel asked, surprised by Dean's straightforward remark. "Why not?"

"No woman ever pulled me out of Hell."

"But Dean…" Castiel started, but Dean silenced him, putting two fingers to Castiel's lips.

"I love you, OK? I don't want to be with anyone else. No women, no men, no other angels, just you. I kind of thought you felt the same way…" he finished, trailing off and not looking quite as certain as he had before.

"I do…" Castiel said softly, feeling a little breathless after Dean's confession. "But I didn't think I could."

"Team free will, remember? We do what we want," Dean said with a grin. A sigh of relief escaped him that he hadn't realized he was holding in. He gave into his earlier desire and tugged Castiel close by his tie, and gave him a deep, searing kiss.

"You got me ready for the fight," Dean said, murmuring against Castiel's panting lips. "So you better stick by me while we finish this."

"I will," Castiel said, grateful that his mission wasn't quite finished yet.