"But the glass was perfect", Supernatural, NC-17, Sam/Dean/Castiel and Sam/Jimmy.

[gorgeousnerd]

master post


The green room, Zach called it. Like they're backstage at a rock show.

Dean isn't fooled. His gut told him exactly what it was the second he'd beamed in: a prison. Never mind the fancy trappings and the beer. He's on fucking death row, and he can't even get one last peek through the bars.

He should be out there. Talking with Zach gave him the know-how he needed, but he could’ve hightailed it to Chuck hours ago and gotten the same crap. Or maybe he could've gotten Sam to pick up his damn phone. Something.

Dean stops in front of the burgers. He's been wearing a hole in the floor, and he's hungry.

Maybe the burgers came from childhood, but the smell's more like leftover Biggerson's burgers. There was a night after he'd gotten back from Hell but before he'd found out about Sam's extracurricular activity where they'd nuked leftovers, and Dean had conked out early without drinking. Big mistake. Booze was the only thing that softened the nightmares, and that night, he was surprised they didn't tear out of his head and burn the world.

He'd been whimpering in his sleep. Something stupid like that. And Sam had shaken him awake.

"Dean," he'd said, quiet and gentle. "Just a dream."

Sam had seemed like the dream, not the demons. Dean had grabbed hard for Sam's sleeve, and the tips of his fingers had hit skin through flannel. Sam's arm had broken into goosebumps, and that, that had been real. Sam had pulled him in for a hug, and for just a second, he'd let his chin rest on Sam's shoulder.

And then he'd fallen asleep.

He hadn't meant to. He hadn't cuddled with Sam since before puberty. But it was Sam.

The man who's about to end the world.

One second, it feels like someone's stomping his insides with steel-toed boots. The next, Dean hears the sound of angel wings, and he's never been so fucking relieved in his life.

"Cas--"

But a hand's over his mouth before he can say more, and he's shoved against the wall. Cas waits for him to stop struggling. When Dean relaxes and nods once, Cas starts to roll back his sleeve.

"What are you doing?"

Zachariah appears a few feet back. Cas's eyes get wider, but he doesn't turn around. Instead, he puts a hand on Dean's forehead, and the world goes white around them.

Dean gets a heartbeat to see they're on a city street before Zachariah yanks Cas's trenchcoat. A silver sword drops out of one of Zachariah's sleeves. Cas twists without letting go of Dean, and--

--they're on a shoreline. Cas's trenchcoat's wasted, and he drops it to the ground. He turns to Dean, but before he can talk, a line of assholes in black suits pops in to the side.

Dean blinks.

They're in a neighborhood of houses. Cars, fire hydrants...

Angels.

Before Cas can drag them somewhere else, Dean grabs his arm. "We can't outrun them."

"We have to try."

Another city, with chillier air. Dean rocks back just in time for a silver blade to pass over his face.

Cas has his sword in hand. He swipes back once, and Dean balls his fists. But white light flashes again, and they're standing in the middle of a hurricane. Or a heavy rain storm. Either way, the streets flood around them, and the houses are dark.

"What do we do?" Dean asks, yelling over the wind. Rain stings his skin.

"I need a wall," Cas yells back. "To draw a banishing sigil."

"Don't you think Zach knows you're gonna do it?"

"Yes!"

Figures advance in the rain. "Got anything else?" Dean asks.

Cas pauses, then shakes his head.

"Really? Nothing?"

"Nothing you want to hear."

They reappear in an empty apartment. Water drips off Dean onto the wood floors. Cas has a similar puddle under his feet, colored just the littlest bit red. Dean watches the blood drip like he hasn't spilled gallons of his own and more of others. It's only a quiet squishing noise that tips him off to Cas cutting into the soft flesh of his arm with Ruby's knife. He hands Dean the knife and dips his fingertips into the wound.

He doesn't get to do anything, though. "Dean!"

The angels are behind them in a line again, solid and unspeaking. Dean grabs Cas's arm right away, and they disappear again.

"You have to do it," Cas says the second they appear in a snowy field. The snow's up to the middle of Dean's calves. "It's all we have time for."

"Do what?"

"Drink my blood."

Dean blinks hard. "Excuse me?"

"You'll be my vessel. And we can fight back."

"No fucking--"

The angels appear, and Cas beams them again. This time, they're on a hill overlooking where they were seconds before. The black suits swarm like ants.

"--way!"

Cas holds his wound close to Dean's face, and Dean shrinks away.

"What happened to dying for this?" Cas says.

"This isn't dying, this is--"

"What?"

Dean clenches his jaw. "Not an option."

The angels appear on their level. Bastards all have their swords out, and they take a swing. The knife's the only thing that saves Dean from having new lines carved in his face, but the blade's not big enough to stop them completely. The tips slice through his clothes and draw blood on his stomach.

Swords clash in Cas's direction, and Dean stumbles backward. He trips and falls, but he switches his momentum into a roll. The snow's soft enough that it sprays in powder around him.

But he doesn't roll fast enough. An angel stabs him in the side and shoves, and Dean screams.

The angel grins with triumph and grabs a discarded sword from the ground. It puts his face within arm's reach, so Dean takes a swing and feels the blade dig into his guts. Hurts like a mother, and he yells, but his knuckles hit cheek. The distraction works; Cas gets his sword into the asshole's throat seconds later.

Dean sags. The blood spreading out from him, still warm, stains the back of his shirt as he presses into the snow. He pulls at the blade, but angels are stronger than a human, even a pissed-off, desperate human, so it doesn't budge.

"Cas," he calls, his throat dry.

"Dean!"

The world's in slow-motion. An angel raises a sword over Cas's head like he's going through water, another lunges for Dean, and a couple more die in the background as Cas swings around. Dean and Cas have left their mark, but even with Dean's waning strength and foggy brain, he knows they've lost.

All big wounds feel the same after a while. With the smell of blood on the air and the waves of pain, the gash in his side could've just as easily been made by hellhound claws as by an angel's sword. The last time he'd been this close to death, Sam was pinned to a wall, screaming his name, crying harder than he'd even cried over Dad's body.

Cas falls next to him. He zigged when he should've zagged, and without the time to heal, his arm drips blood.

"Hold on," Cas says.

Dean takes him at his word and grabs his arm. Before he really thinks about it, he drops his mouth onto Cas's wound and drinks.

He doesn't have the strength to do it for long. Hell, even if he did, it's blood, and he'd probably puke his guts out in the snow. But when he sags, his eyelids fluttering closed, he gasps out a "Yes" and hopes Cas heard.

It has to be too late now, but if there's a chance, any chance at all, he has to take it.

For Sam.



Dean's acquiescence shocks Castiel out of the haze of battle. He doesn't know if Dean spoke the word or not, but it's a definite yes.

Jimmy, long compliant, barely acknowledges when Castiel slips out of his body and into Dean's. Using Dean's eyes, he watches Jimmy slump to the icy ground, and the angels back away immediately. But not quickly enough.

Castiel heals Dean immediately, and they disappear.

They travel faster now there's one body and one angel. A human could never tell the difference, but as an angel, Castiel feels the fractions of seconds they gain. He flies faster than he's ever needed to before, keeping Dean pushed back in a corner of his own mind. He can feel him thrash and knows there will be consequences, but he can't give ground. And Dean knows it.

After countless beamings in several minutes, Castiel finally earns several seconds of lead time. He makes Dean and himself appear in Chuck's living room.

Chuck drops a phone and jumps backward. "This isn't supposed to happen."

"There's no time," Castiel says. Like with Jimmy, Dean's voice deepens when he uses it. It doesn't pass Chuck's notice; he makes a choking noise. "Where is Sam?"

"M-Maryland. St. Mary's Convent, in Ilchester."

Castiel feels the air shift as his brothers prepare to land, so he can't thank the prophet before appearing in the convent.

Blood runs at Castiel's feet. He follows the path with Dean's eyes and sees Ruby holding onto Sam, who stares blankly at the floor.

"It's too late," she says, grinning up at Castiel.

"I don't care," Castiel says. It's an echo of Dean, who has stopped fighting Castiel. He wants Ruby's blood so much, it tastes bitter in Dean's mouth.

It's the least Castiel can do to comply.

Sam stirs as Castiel draws her knife. Sam wraps his hands around Ruby's arms, and together, they shover her onto the blade. Her presence lights up her vessel, then goes forever dark.

"Dean," Sam gasps. He lets the dead vessel drop, his hands shaking. "I'm so sorry."

Castiel feels the ground rock and hears Lucifer's whispers grow in volume. They have just enough time if he--

--takes them back to Jimmy, who shivers by himself on the wintery hill. The snow around him is trampled and bloody, but blowing flakes will cover the evidence before long.

Get OUT, Dean screams.

Castiel does in a blaze of light. Sam covers his eyes and cringes as Castiel shifts over to Jimmy's body. Castiel senses the demon blood running under Sam's skin, even from a distance; the angelic light must burn his eyes more than usual.

He also senses Lucifer break triumphantly free from his cage, half a world away.

Dean drops to a knee, and Sam goes to him. Castiel stays apart. It's unlikely Dean would welcome further assistance.

"Good thing you didn't screw things up for good."

Castiel whirls. "Raphael."

Raphael stands with a line of angels behind his back, all fresh and uninjured. Zachariah isn't among them. Castiel wonders what punishment he will endure for his failure.

"Leave now," Raphael says, "and we won't follow."

Castiel steps back until Sam grabs an arm of Castiel's suit jacket. Castiel hopes he has a good hold on Dean.

"Very well," Castiel says.

He takes the Winchesters away again. It isn't what Raphael meant, but Castiel's always been literal.



They're in the desert. Even at night, the difference from the snow is big; the air is dry and much warmer. Sam's surprised enough that he loses his grip on Dean for a second, who slumps into the sand.

"Dean," Sam says, picking him up and shaking him.

He still isn't answering. His eyes are wide, and he has a hint of a smile on his face, and he doesn't look at Sam.

Castiel turns and touches a hand to Dean's chest. He doesn't react. But when Cas touches Sam's ribs, he feels a momentary burn, and he gasps.

"What did you do?" he chokes.

"Carved sigils into your ribs," Cas says. "No angels will be able to find you."

"Not--Dean!"

Dean jerks, and the smile on his face disappears. He scrambles out of Sam's hands before he can stop him and starts vomiting in front of a sagebrush bush.

"He'll be fine in a couple days," Cas says, watching Dean with a slightly tilted head.

"You can't fix him now?"

"No." When Sam doesn't break his gaze, Cas's shoulders slump. "He drank my blood, and I used him as a vessel. It was our only choice."

If they weren't a million miles from water, Sam would think the roaring in his ears was the ocean. It's distracting enough that he doesn't realize he stood and slammed his fist into Cas's face until he feels pain radiate in his knuckles. He stares at his twisted fingers without seeing them.

Cas reaches for him. Sam jerks away. "Don't touch me."

"Your fingers are broken. I'll heal them."

"I said no. Just take us to Bobby's, and--"

"No."

Sam looks over at Dean. He's wiping his mouth and looking shaky.

"Not Bobby," Dean says.

"Dean."

"He can't see me. Not like this."

Sam can't stop from wincing. But he doesn't push it. Bobby's better off away from them. "We need to go somewhere."

Dean's eyes flick toward Cas, but he doesn't change expressions. Sam wonders if it's because he's not feeling much of anything, or if he's feeling the same way toward the both of them.

"The cabin," Dean says finally.

"No." It's an automatic answer, and comes more from his inner fourteen-year-old than any real feelings. They don't have the Impala, and it's probably the best place to get supplies without going to Bobby's. But his resolve holds until Dean's eyelids flutter and he swoons.

"Fine." Sam can't look at Cas, so he looks up at the stars, bright and swirling overhead. "Let's go."



The sun is rising when Castiel takes the Winchesters to their father's cabin.

Dean smiles a little when he spots the building, and Castiel's unsure why. It stands half-complete, with partially rotted foundation and sheets of plastic hanging where glass should be. Dean even smiles when he sees a firepit, dirty and covered in weeds.

Sam takes Dean up to the cabin. Castiel follows.

The inside is relatively neat. The living room's couch is stained, and the cabinets in the kitchen have large holes, but most of the grime comes from lack of use. Certainly, it's less rundown than other Winchester hideouts.

Castiel ignores the bathroom with the green blanket covering the doorway and enters the bedroom.

The boarded windows block sunlight, but the electricity appears to work, since the overhead lights are turned on. Two cots in the room lie against the walls with bare mattresses and ratty blankets. The walls are covered in spray-painted demon signs.

Sam stands over Dean, who's stretched out on one of the cots, snoring lightly.

He hates your guts. Jimmy. It's the first time he's spoken to Castiel since he came close to death.

It was his choice.

Bet he doesn't see it that way.

Sam's jaw clenches when he looks at Castiel. His fists ball, and he winces.

"Let me--" Castiel takes a step forward.

"Heal?" Sam says in a low voice, eyes flickering to Dean. Castiel doesn't tell him Dean won't hear them speak. "You really think you can fix me?"

"I can fix your hand."

Sam's posture grows more threatening, somehow. Maybe it's the way his arms jut out. Castiel holds himself ready for whatever Sam will do.

But he extends his hand, and Castiel touches it. He feels the blood in Sam's veins more acutely now, prickling against the palm of Jimmy's hand. Fixing the bones in Sam's hand does nothing to ease the sting; it would take more power than Castiel possesses to make any kind of difference.

"Get out," Sam says when Castiel releases his hand.

"Dean needs protection while he heals," Castiel says.

"We have protection."

"Not from angels."

"What the hell could they want?"

This isn't how Castiel wanted to explain. But it's urgent Sam believe him on this point, at least. "Do you think you could've broken the last seal if the angels hadn't wanted it? If they didn't have plans?"

"Plans?"

"You are Lucifer's vessel," he says. "And Dean is Michael's."

From what Castiel knows of Sam, and from the vestiges of the demon blood that he'll always have, Castiel expects rage. But Sam doesn't lash out. He sits, clumsy, on the empty cot and breathes hard.

"Does Dean know?" he says after a long moment of silence. His eyes flicker in Dean's direction.

"No," Castiel says. "We need to give him time to recover his strength."

Sam swallows. "Give me one reason to trust you."

"I defied Heaven."

Sam's stare has weight, presence. Even though Sam sits and Castiel's on his feet, it's a clear standoff. Ten minutes ago, Castiel would've lost. But the fight is gone from Sam, and Castiel only has to wait.

Finally, Sam exhales slowly.

"There should be spray paint under the kitchen counter," he says.



Sam puts up with Cas for the rest of the day while the angel paints sigils all over the cabin. He doesn't leave him alone with Dean - there's a lot Cas could do while spraying the walls of the bedroom - but Sam would rather play babysitter and lose a couple hours than risk anything. Anything else, anyway.

God, how could he have been so stupid?

He weeds the firepit with the image of choking Dean in his head. He searches the gun closet for ammo with the sound of Cindy McClellan's screams in his ears. He checks the cans of food in the pantry for expiration dates with the bloody smell of the convent in his nose.

Lucifer's free. And the trail leads right to Sam.

He should be out there. Maybe Dean doesn't want him to get Bobby's help, but – no. Dean's right, at least for now. But he could think of something else. If Dean wasn't tugging at him, weighing on his mind.

The sun's high in the sky when Cas finds Sam in the living room.

"I finished," he says.

Sam doesn't look at him. "Good. Now get out."

"I won't leave you unprotected."

"You've done enough," Sam snaps. He can't be around when Dean wakes up. Sam has enough of a mess to fix.

"Sam--"

"Just..." Sam runs a hand through his hair. "Give me time. Okay?"

Cas stares at him with his all-seeing look. Finally, he nods. "I should look for God. He'll know what to do."

God. Sam's been talking to angels for a year, and he's been around demons his whole life, but somehow, God keeps slipping out of his head. Maybe it's not an accident.

"You don't know where God is?" he says, eyes wide.

"No angel does. Except for maybe Joshua." Cas's gaze goes distant until he nods again. "I'll return."

"Wait," Sam says. He says it, at first, because God. God. But as the shock fades, he remembers Dad and his three rules: get safe, get supplies, and get help. Sam wasn't doing well on the last two. "Can you get some supplies from Bobby? Make sure he's okay?"

"Yes."

"Then we're talking about this."

Cas tilts his head, but he nods and disappears.

But they don't talk when Cas brings a couple bags and a note from Bobby's. Bobby promises to keep an eye out for Lucifer and finishes with "Keep your heads low, idjits". Sam takes note of the food and ammo inside the bags and tries to look at Cas. But Sam's eyes slide to the space around him. The urge to rip Cas apart from the inside, to paint the walls with his vessel's blood, are too strong.

And never mind about God. The urge to ask Cas about it burns, but Sam doesn't deserve it. Or trust himself to have it.

Sam calms down when Cas says "Pray if you have need of me" and disappears. But only a little.

It's the best punishment anyone could cook up: leaving Sam in Dad's cabin, away from the world, near Dean without being with him. The memories of Dad don't sting like they used to. But the sun and the pine smell reminds him of the days he and Dean snuck away to swim in the river, and the moonlight streaming in of nights when they'd watch shooting stars on the roof.

It didn't always suck. But it does now. Dean sleeps, and all Sam can do is make food that he barely eats and listens to the radio Bobby passed along.

Sam's wiping sweating from his forehead for the hundredth time when he hears "unusual weather patterns" and "cold front" from the weatherman on the radio. Of course he's seen Dean curled in his blankets, but Sam was comfortable in a t-shirt the entire time. He isn't comfortable now. The heat burns. Itches.

"Oh no," he whispers.

Sam looks around the cabin faster than his brain can keep up. There has to be a place to tie down, but no, only one of the cots would hold him, and there's no way in hell he's doing this next to Dean. Or risking waking him up. Besides, this isn't Bobby's panic room: if his power lashed out, the walls aren't iron. Not like he has anything to tie himself with anyway.

Which means he has to call someone else.

He squeezes his eyes shut. "Cas. I need your help."



Waking up sucks.

It's not because Dean's mouth tastes like ass, or because his eyes hurt more every time he opens them. Or even because the room smells like fresh spray paint. It's the crushing weight in his chest. He can't breathe, much less move.

Never mind that the world's ending. Or that he has to talk to Sam. Fuck. What the hell is Dean gonna say? Sorry for all the shit I threw your way, I get it now? Yeah. Like that'll happen.

He lies in the bed for hours without moving. He should piss. Or eat. But staying stretched out feels...not good, exactly, but better than anything else.

When his bladder reaches red alert, he shoves up and goes to the toilet without looking around. He relieves himself quickly and leans his forehead against the blue tile walls. God. It feels like he went twelve rounds with a big rig.

He leans on the door frame, pushing the blanket aside. He won't look for Sam. If Sam wants him, he can come find him.

Except...

"Sam?" he says. "Cas?"

No one answers.

Now that he's listening for it, he hears noises outside. He reaches in the gun closet without looking - and hey, his old sawed-off's exactly where he left it, and there's new shells next to it. Awesome. He pops the barrel and sticks a couple rounds in, then slumps to the front of the house.

The plastic over the front window gaps, and he peeks through it.

Two figures stand at the edge of the tree line, a couple hundred yards back. The light's pretty good, and Dean can make out Sam easily, standing against one of the trees. Their voices stay low and easy, so Dean figures the other guy's Cas, but he slips the barrel out through the gap. Just in case.

Yeah. Now that the stranger turns, he can see it's Cas. It's weird seeing him without the trenchcoat, but he--

Wait. What's in his hands?

Cas takes whatever he's holding and wraps it around Sam and the tree. Dean pushes to his feet - what the hell - but his knees buckle and he falls against the couch. He swears about fifty times and straightens the gun again.

Both Sam and Cas are looking his way now. Fucking great.

But Sam doesn't call out to him; he's arching a little against the tree. Cas shoves something in his mouth just in time to cut off a scream. Dean clicks off the safety in a rush - rookie move, god - and braces the barrel against his shoulder.

"Put the gun down."

Dean twitches. Good thing he knows not to leave his finger on the trigger. "Can't you use the freaking door for a change?"

Cas stands in the middle of the living room. When Dean gets to his feet, they stay under him. He points the gun at the ground and leaves the safety off.

"Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Whatever, Cas."

"You don't mean that." Cas is actually avoiding his gaze. That's new. "I'll go. Sam needs you."

"Wait, what?"

Dean gets the patented Cas head-tilt. "The blood Sam needed to kill Lilith was large in quantity. He'll be in pain for the night. Perhaps longer."

He hears the muffled scream again, and Dean shivers. "You mean, I've gotta listen to this?"

"He can't be left alone. Not with Lucifer hunting him."

"So why are you leaving?"

"I have my own mission."

Dean crowds Cas. His knees shake. He doesn't care. "You looking for Lucifer?"

"Not exactly."

"Don't you think that's a little high on the to-do list?" Dean huffs. "We should be out there."

"You're in no shape--"

"Yeah? And whose fault is that?" Dean hears the seams of Cas's suit creak. Because he grabbed the lapels of his jacket. Still doesn't care.

"Sit down, Dean."

"No."

But his foot slides out from under him, and he falls against Cas. Cas takes his weight easily, and for a second, Dean lets him.

It'd be so easy. Let Cas make all the decisions. Let him solve the end of the goddamned world. And maybe, just maybe, Dean and Sam could get some time to themselves for five fucking minutes.

And then Dean's insides burn. Not much, but enough to remind him how it felt to have Cas running the show.

He shoves away and falls on his ass. The couch is right behind him, but it's still enough to bruise.

"You should rest," Cas says, bending down to Dean's level. Dean flinches and looks away. "I'll leave Jimmy."

Dean starts to ask what the hell that means, but white light glows in the room and stops the burning in Dean's insides. It's not going anywhere near him, but its warmth feels like a caress for a brief second, and then it's gone.

Jimmy blinks in front of Dean. Can't blame the guy; Cas had only ridden Dean for a few minutes, and his eyes still felt sandy and gross right after.

"Uh." Jimmy looks down. "Where'd my coat go?"



Sam knows what to expect. It doesn't make it easier.

He knows the sweating is only the beginning; he feels more just out of reach as Cas ties him to the tree. That's how the blood works at first: a slow build. Not as a friendly reminder, but as a message. I'm coming for you.

"I don't know if I can do this." He winces. He didn't mean to say that.

But Castiel straightens, tugs on the chain, and nods once.

"You asked for it this time, Sam," he says. "You will do it."

When Cas unlatches his belt, Sam hears a noise from the cabin and looks over. Cas's head snaps in the same instance. A convulsion passes through Sam, but he's not so out of it that he can't recognize the muzzle of a barrel sticking out of the window.

Great. Of course Dean woke up now.

"Open your mouth," Cas says.

Sam does, and Cas slips his belt into his mouth. When Sam bites down, his teeth sink into the leather. He hopes it holds when things get bad.

Cas disappears, but he doesn't go far. Sam watches the barrel retract and hears quiet talking inside the cabin. At least Dean's less likely to blow Sam's head off now.

Sam convulses again, and it doesn't pass quickly. Spiders swarm the ground and crawl up Sam's legs. Their feet dig into his skin, prickling and sharp. They aren't real. They can't be. He just has to wait them out, wait for it to shift to something else, wait for the pressure to reach a peak and break. It will end. He knows it will.

He screams around the belt in his mouth. It doesn't help.

When he doesn't think he can take it anymore, golden light comes from the cabin. The ground around Sam brightens, and the spiders don't have shadows. Sam's eyes burn until they water. He lets the lids drop.

It seems to take forever for the light to disappear, but when it finally does, the spiders are gone, too.

He doesn't get much of a break.

"Hello, Sam." The voice is a nasal, Brando-like whine. "Miss me?"

Alastair slides out of the darkness. Sam can see him even in the low light. There shouldn't even be enough to reflect off the scalpel in his hand, but the edges still glint as Alastair sinks it into his skin. The chain around Sam's stomach doesn't protect him; it's where Alastair focuses his attentions.

"I don't need to tear you apart," Alastair says, laughing as he carves. "Lucifer'll do enough. But it's so much fun."

Sam laughs. It comes out a strangled sob that pulls at his stomach.

Alastair plays for a few more minutes. And then he's gone.

"Hey."

Cas stands front of Sam. He reaches up and tugs the belt out of Sam's mouth. Sam gasps in relief when it's gone. He can breathe. He'll need the belt again, but for now, he needs the extra air more.

"Dean told me not to come out," Castiel says. Except...when has Cas ever smiled nervously? Or at all? "I can go back inside. If you'd rather be alone."

It clicks. "Jimmy?"

Jimmy nods. He shifts the belt between his hands and looks at the ground. Sam fidgets as much as the chains allow. He felt weird the last time he'd met Jimmy, and he hadn't even been to the point of hallucinations then.

"Where's..."

But he trails off as Dean walks up behind Jimmy.

"This again," Dean says. "Really."

"Dean."

Jimmy blinks. "What'd you say?"

Dean walks around Jimmy and crosses his arms. "I should've put a bullet in your head the first chance I got."

"Hey, Sam," Jimmy says. He waves a hand. "Look at me."

"Now look at me. Look at what you did to me. I'm a monster, just like you."

The lump in Sam's throat's works like a gag: Sam can barely breathe, and he definitely can't talk. He wants to tell Dean he isn't a monster. But more, he wants him to listen, and he won't.

Jimmy pushes up in front of Sam's face, blocking Dean from view. The chains rattle.

"Sam," he says. "Whatever you're seeing isn't there."

"But--"

"It isn't. It's just me, and a bunch of trees."

Jimmy searches Sam's face. Sam's eyelids flutter, but he nods.

"Here," Jimmy says finally. He steps backward and clicks on a flashlight. It's only after a second that Sam remembers the ones in the gun closet. "I'll point the flashlight anywhere you see something. Will that help?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you care?"

Jimmy bites his lower lip. "You tried to help me, and my family. Even with everything."

He makes it sound noble. Sam huffs a little, but Bobby appears behind Jimmy.

"Did it feel good?" Bobby says, eyes slitted. "Clocking me in the face?"

Sam opens his mouth, but it's too dry to talk. He closes it again, works around some saliva, and tries again. "There."

When he jerks his head, Jimmy points the flashlight. It casts Bobby in shadow, but it doesn't cast a silhouette on the trees behind.

"He's not real," Jimmy says.

"Yeah," Sam says as Jimmy smiles, a little desperate. "He's not."



Castiel's preferred part of Heaven is as it always is: green, calm, quiet.

It's incredibly reckless to be here, in a place he's known for, at a time he's hunted. But he can't bring himself to make his way to the Garden, even though he should. The smell of cut grass wavers in the air, and he allows wind to ruffle the hair of his incorporeal form.

He finds the Winchester aversion to death difficult to understand. Not impossible - the finality of end times, if he's truthful, has never sat well with him - but if Dean's Heaven is anything like this, it should be more than enough for anyone.

Except. Dean's Heaven wouldn't be a Tuesday afternoon with a colorful kite in the air. His life is difficult and bloody, with few moments of peace to break it up. Sam's is the same, and with their afterlives communal, there would be conflict. Unhappiness.

Castiel senses heavenly presences lurking just out of sight. It's time to leave.

Cas. Can you hear me?

"Jimmy?" Castiel says, even though Jimmy can't hear him.

I think it's over. There's hesitancy in his prayer, like he's not sure if he wants Castiel back. But the Winchesters don't either, and Castiel needs to protect them. Jimmy would be just as vulnerable...more, since he lacks the skills Sam and Dean possess.

Castiel descends to Earth.

Jimmy isn't outside with Sam or in the living room with Dean when Castiel takes over. Instead, he waits on the opposite side of the cabin, next to the boarded bedroom window. The room's shadowed, but as Castiel takes over Jimmy, it glows with heavenly light. But it would glow even if there was full sunshine.

Is Sam all right? Castiel asks immediately.

Images flash through Jimmy's mind, as they always do. Castiel usually allows them to pass unremarked, but this time, he watches.

It's everything Castiel observed while Sam was in the panic room: hallucinations, exhaustion, pain. Sam calls for Dean over and over, and Jimmy spends a lot of his time looking toward the cabin, wondering if Dean'll come outside for Sam.

He doesn't.

Finally, when Jimmy's done remembering, he tells Castiel, He'll live. The words are pitying.

You wouldn't want to live? Castiel asks.

Jimmy doesn't answer the question. The flash of Claire and Amelia in his thoughts are reply enough.

How much time do we have? Jimmy asks. Before Lucifer.

I don't know exactly.

A ballpark figure?

Castiel wonders. How long will Sam Winchester say no? How long will Dean? It's impossible to know. But even Castiel would break sooner or later, and humans don't have the millenia to build strength and patience that angels do.

Not long, he says.

But there's got to be a chance. Right?

Castiel reads his intentions immediately. If he says no, Jimmy'll leave the next time Castiel slips away and grab one last moment with his family. If he burns, he doesn't want to burn alone.

But Castiel. He has no one.

Yes, Castiel says. He doesn't deserve the gratitude he feels from Jimmy. There is always hope.



If Sam had a list of things he never thought he'd do, sleeping chained to a tree would probably be one of them. Sleeping propped against a tree, sure. But letting his head droop and metal dig into his skin? Not even Dean's a deep enough sleeper for that.

But he wakes up, mid-afternoon, and finds drool trickling down his chin.

"Sam."

The voice is definitely Castiel. The body is, too; Jimmy's posture isn't as perfect, his eyes as unblinking. Cas grabs the padlock and sticks the key inside.

"It's over?" Sam asks as Cas slips the chains off.

"Yes."

Sam shouldn't be sagging on Castiel. He can't remember why exactly, but he should be walking back to the cabin on his own. He blinks, and he's inside. Cas helps him onto the couch. God, he's never been so happy to lie on a couch he's too tall for in his entire life. He could lay on this couch forever.

"I..."

Cas stands by the couch. Sunlight filters through the plastic, muted, but it's too much for Sam's eyes. All he can see is Cas's outline. The silhouette of wings is probably just his eyes playing tricks.

"Yeah?" Sam says.

"It can wait."

Sam rubs his eyes. "Tell me," Sam says.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Castiel pauses. Then he says, "The panic room. I let you out."

Sam remembers the panic room. He doesn't remember feeling this terrible in it; he blacked out a lot, and he managed to struggle his way out before the night passed. And he remembers...he remembers...

You walk out that door, don't you ever come back.

"I walked out," Sam says. He sniffles and wipes his nose on his wrist. "You opened the door, and I walked out."

Sam can't see Castiel's face, but he can see his hands. One of them tenses. It's only as Sam stares that it relaxes.

When Cas doesn't say anything else, Sam lets himself drift. It's sleep, it has to be, but it feels more like he's floating through the afternoon, too battered to disengage, too tired to move. Cas disappears, and Jimmy appears in front of him, brushing his hair out of his face and handing him a glass of water.

The world finally goes dark.



Dean lies in his bed all night, trailing his hand over the gun on the floor. He should sleep, but screams echo off the trees like gun shots and jerk him awake if he gets close. He can't plug his ears, and he can't leave. He stares at the new symbols on the wall and waits because...well, there isn't anything else he can do.

It seems like the sun'll never rise. It does. But the screams stay. Dean finally passes out, and it doesn't matter if it's because he's tired down to his bones or because it's his only way to escape. It just feels good.

He might've stayed in the cool darkness forever, but white light flashes.

Dean jerks awake. He grabs the shotgun again, heart pounding. He doesn't get out of bed because he feels nearly as shitty as he did yesterday, and he might be a stubborn SOB, but he learns. It's not like he can't hear what's going on, anyway.

Sure enough, he hears Sam and Cas stumble in the living room. They talk, but Dean doesn't listen. They'll tell him if he needs to know something.

"Dean."

Cas stands in the doorway. Dean rubs one of his eyes and yawn. When did he fall asleep?

"What?"

"I..." Cas walks in slowly. Dean raises an eyebrow. "I was wondering how you were."

"Peachy."

"You should be through the worst by tomorrow," Cas says. He looks away, toward the living room. Sam's in the living room.

"Through the worst," Dean says. He sits up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your body's adjusting to the infusion of angelic power."

"So what, now I'm the one detoxing?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Great plan, Cas. Super." Dean rubs his temples. "When do I get visions and all that crap?"

Cas tips his head to the side. "You ingested angel blood. We aren't demons."

"Tell that to Lucifer."

"Angels can corrupt without being demons, Dean."

Dean stares Cas down. "Yeah. I know."

Cas doesn't break eye contact; even if he's past trying to be intimidating, Dean doesn't think he knows how. Dean's not ready to back off anyway. "Just answer one question."

"Of course."

He points between them. "This vessel thing we have. Will it go away?"

Cas doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.

Dean kicks the bed. The shock of pain in his toes feels way better than it should.

"Dean, I--"

"You know what, Cas? I don't care. Go back to your mission, or whatever."

"There are things you must know."

Dean clenches his jaw. If he didn't know what punching Cas would do to his hand, he'd lay into him. "I think I know enough."

Cas steps up to him. Dean feels a chill roll up his spine, and he scowls. "What have I said about personal space?"

"You have to say no," Cas says. "If you give in, there's no turning back."

"What the hell?"

When he talks, his breath trails over Dean's skin. "Michael will find you. Or Lucifer will find Sam. It's only a matter of time."

"So? We've taken on big assholes before."

"They don't want to kill you."

Well, no, Lucifer probably wanted to throw Sam a big parade with puppies and kittens. And Dean had pledged himself to Heaven, so Michael...

"Fuck," he says. "No fucking way."

He should be immune to the earth-shattering revelations by now. But he looks at Cas and remembers how it felt to be flinging around the world without any say in what was going on. He remembers Sam's face after the demon possession: I was awake for some of it. Cas is small potatoes , but Dean has a taste.

"What about this?" Dean asks, waving around the room. "Won't it buy us time?"

Cas follows his gestures with his eyes. "Not much. If my quest for God goes poorly--"

"You're looking for God?"

"--you'll have less." Cas looks down. They're still really close together; if Dean took a deep breath, they'd touch. "I could use your assistance."

Dean's heart beats a little faster.

"The amulet should help me find Him," Cas says.

"This?" Dean grabs the amulet. The edges dig into his palm. "You sure?"

"Yes."

Dad lied to me. I want you to have it.

Thank you, Sam. I love it.

Dean sighs and unslings the loop from his neck. His neck feels too light without it.

"I'll leave Jimmy," Cas says, taking the amulet. "I don't know if God's in Heaven or on Earth, but I won't need a vessel after I begin."

Dean doesn't have time to nod before Castiel disappears. Which sucks because, the minute he's gone, whatever energy Dean found drains from his body completely, and he half-falls on the bed again.

"Damn it," he says, his forehead breaking out in sweat as he pulls himself into the bed again.

He's only just stopped moving when he hears shoes on the front steps of the porch. They shuffle around the living room a little, and then a head appears at the doorway.

"You need anything?" Jimmy's taken off the coat and tie.

"Sammy," Dean mutters. Sam should be in the room with him. It isn't the same without him making a racket in his bed, tossing and turning and not sleeping. He could wake Dean up if he had nightmares again.

Okay, he's got to be tired if he's thinking like that.

But which Sam's sleeping in the living room? The Sam who'd let Dean drool and cry on his shoulder? Or the other Sam, the one who'd choked Dean close to unconsciousness?

"What was that?"

"Sam," Dean repeats, waving a hand toward the living room. "Just watch Sam."

Jimmy nods and leaves. Dean wants to follow, or do anything that doesn't involve lying around. But even as desperation claws his insides, his eyelids droop, and sleep wins again.



Burgers.

Sam knows the way burgers smell. These aren't fast-food or diner burgers. No, they smell like the kind people make at home, with the lingering smell of uncooked beef and chilled ketchup and cheese.

"Who?" Sam whispers as he opens his eyes.

The cabin's gloomy at this point, both with the setting sun and hazy smoke hanging in the air that stings Sam's eyes and throat. He coughs.

"Sam? That you?"

"Yeah," Sam says. He parts the plastic over the window.

Jimmy grins and waves at him. He's using the firepit with a tarnished metal grate he found somewhere, poking at the burgers with a hunting knife Sam knows he took from the ammo closet. Sam snorts quietly.

"You want one?"

"Yeah, hang on," Sam says.

He gets to his feet. He doesn't feel as strung out as last time. But he's starving; his belly's making so much noise as he heads outside that he bets Jimmy can hear it.

"Where'd all this come from?" Sam asks. He grabs the ketchup bottle from Jimmy's feet.

"Cas," Jimmy says, handing him a bun. "We brought it back from Bobby's."

Wow, Sam must've been really out of it. He didn't notice half of this crap. "I didn't think the fridge worked."

"It doesn't. But Bobby gave us an ice chest."

As usual, Bobby was more on the ball than anyone. "I don't suppose you scored any beer?"

Jimmy shakes his head and spears a hamburger patty. "He said if you wanted beer, you had to go get it."

Figures. "So...he didn't seem mad?"

"I don't really know."

Sam grabs the knife and takes the patty off. The past summers of camping means prepping the burger's second nature: putting on the fixings, balancing everything on his knee, pulling off the burned parts and throwing them in the fire.

Jimmy takes a bite off a half-eaten burger in his lap - he doesn't seem to care they don't have plates - and looks up at the sky. "I haven't done this in years."

"What?"

"Camping."

"I don't think that's what we're doing."

"Feels like camping." Jimmy smiles. "Now, anyway."

A breeze comes up, and the flames blow toward them. Jimmy's smile fades, and he hugs his arms.

"You cold?" Sam asks. Jimmy's just in his white shirt and slacks; the other layers and the tie are gone. And Cas probably adds some kind of resistance to the elements, since it's not like the trenchcoat was an all-weather look.

"No." Jimmy rests his feet on one of the boulders surrounding the pit. "Just thinking."

"Mind if I ask what about?"

Jimmy chuckles. "The only person I ever talk to is Castiel. He doesn't care what I think."

"So that's a yes?" Sam's tone is light, almost teasing.

Jimmy doesn't play along. "Claire and Amelia. I don't know if they're...if the demons left them alone. After."

"Did Cas check up on them?"

Jimmy scoffs. "No."

Of course not. He was too busy opening the panic room door.

Sam bites into his burger. It's a little bloody. He takes another quick bite, tearing the meat and bun.

If Sam hadn't listened to Ruby those months ago - was it nearly a year now? - Jimmy wouldn't have left the motel room and gone home to his family. They were targets, sure, but maybe Sam could've...

No. If Jimmy hadn't come to them, they've would've played the bait card earlier. There's no use wasting time on blame.

Still. Sam swallows his food. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I...I messed things up," Sam says. "I don't think things would've been different, but I was screwed in the head, and your family paid for it."

"You mean a few days ago?"

"Yeah."

Jimmy sighs and tosses the last of his burger in the fire. "Won't this Lucifer thing'll be a lot worse?"

"I--" What can he say? He's right. A little emotional abuse, even from demons, is nothing next to the end of the world.

"No, wait," Jimmy says when Sam turns away. He looks guilty. "I'm not blaming you."

Sam laughs. "Why not?"

"You weren't...you didn't know. They manipulated you."

"Don't you think that's the easy way out?"

"It's what they do," Jimmy says, his voice cracking. "They make promises, and you don't know better. You can't. And then they use you to leave nothing but rubble and dust behind."

He rubs at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Sam puts a hand on his shoulder, and even though Jimmy doesn't push him away, he flinches.

"I'm not sure he's coming back." When Sam looks confused, Jimmy adds, "Cas."

Sam frowns. "I thought he was looking for God."

"He doesn't think God'll make Himself known." Jimmy doesn't look happy saying it, but there's a reverent tone around the word 'God'. It takes some of the edge out of his voice. "He's grasping for straws."

Sam can't help but think Who isn't?



Dean's skin feels prickly. He rubs at the scruff on his face - he needs to shave, or he'll have a full-on beard in a couple days - and his palm tingles. Weird.

It isn't until he rolls over and he bumps his crotch with his mattress that he gets it.

He hasn't jerked off in days, and it's been way longer since he got laid. So what'd normally be morning wood - or whatever it's called when he sleeps during the day and wakes up at night - has turned into something that feels a little more urgent. But he isn't a teenager, so he gets up to pee.

He could jerk off in the shower. They don't have a hot water heater, so it'd squash any weird urges and muffle whatever noise he might make. But he looks at the dirty tub and snorts. Even he has standards. Sometimes.

When Dean pushes the blanket over the bathroom door away again, he hears a sound from outside. Sam's voice he gets right away, but it takes him a second to pick out Jimmy. They sound fine. Really good, actually. They're laughing.

Fuck. How could he not know laughter?

The smell of food's on the air, and his stomach rumbles, but he goes back in the bedroom and sits on the cot. Not because he's tired. His leg bounces out a rhythm, quiet because he doesn't have his boots on. When did he takes those off? Maybe Sam did it. Or Cas. Or Jimmy. It's a pretty full cabin. But Sam makes the most sense.

Usually, if Sam's stripping Dean down, it's because a hunt went bad or Dean's drunk off his ass. Alcohol means bad jokes and mocking. Hunts mean worry and snapping. But maybe, Sam was softly concerned, giving Dean his best I'm-so-sorry looks because Dean can't get pissed about it. He knows Dean doesn't want to be babied. Except when he does.

Sam's stripped him down completely before, stitched him up, wiped up the blood and washed the stained clothes. He's big enough that he can lift Dean without help. He only touches lightly when Dean's hurt, only where he needs to. Dean always growls to be careful, not because it hurts, but because it itches and feels weird and--

Dean blinks.

His hand's down his pants. He's wrapped around his cock, and he’s rubbing, and oh god, it feels--

"No," he says aloud. He takes his hand out and zips up his jeans again.

Cas. It had to be him. He should pray to him, make him come down and...do something. Dean isn't sure what. Yell, maybe. If he'd talked to Dean sooner, if they'd gotten away from Zach without this shit, this wouldn't be a problem, but it is, and goddamn it.

Yeah. Definitely time for a shower.



Sam doesn't know why he says yes when Jimmy says they should go for a hike. The sun's been down for at least an hour, and Sam probably shouldn't push it. But when he hears the water in the cabin turn on,the pipes clunking, that's it. He's ready to go.

Jimmy practically bounces up the trail, leading the way with the flashlight he had the night before. Sam understands. But the enthusiasm's a little jarring.

The cabin's been out of sight for fifteen minutes before either of them talk.

"You know the way back, right?" Jimmy asks.

Sam nods. "This was my dad's place. We spent a lot of summers here."

"Really? In this heap?"

"It's always been this way." Sam snorts a little. "So no one goes near it."

"No one? Even when you were kids?"

Sam hadn't needed other kids. He had Dean. But he shrugs instead of answering.

"I always went to church camp," Jimmy says, kicking a pebble off the path and into the line of trees. "Lots of Bible reading."

"Did that bug you?"

Jimmy shakes his head. "I wasn't much for sports as a kid. And I like the Bible. Liked. I don't know."

They shut up again. The dark trees whistle in the wind.

"Can I have the flashlight?" Sam asks.

"Sure." Jimmy hands it over and stretches his arms. "It scared me, hearing what God could do, but it was a good scared, you know? Like someone was being tough for my own good."

Sam wonders what Jimmy would've thought of Dad. Maybe they would've gotten along. Maybe not. When Dad wasn't using iconography and ritual during hunts, he pretended religion didn't exist.

They walk into a clearing. Sam hears rustling, probably from animals lurking just out of sight. He checks to make sure the pistol's still tucked into the back of his jeans.

"Bet you never thought you'd ride around with an angel when you were a kid, huh?"

Jimmy stiffens. Crap.

"Sorry." Sam winces. "I wasn't thinking. I mean--"

"No, you're right." Jimmy's still smiling, but it's forced. "I would've loved to do it when I was a kid. I think it's why I said yes, that first time."

"Maybe we should get back."

Sam starts to walk back up the trail. But Jimmy grabs his arm. He turns to see what's going on, but Jimmy shoves him up against a tree, and -

And he's kissing him.

Sam lets the flashlight drop to the ground. He grabs Jimmy's head and shoves his fingers in his hair. Sam's jaw is clenched, so the kiss is nothing but mouths shoved together, but a grunt escapes his mouth and is echoed by Jimmy almost immediately.

Jimmy pulls back, and Sam pants. The flashlight only shows him lines of Jimmy's face.

"You sure about this?" Sam asks.

"Yeah," Jimmy says, breathless. "Don't stop."

Sam leans into Jimmy again. This time, their mouths are open, and Jimmy slips his tongue in, teasing. But Sam's not the type for light caresses and kindness. And he doesn't think Jimmy wants kindness.

Sam flips them around, pushing Jimmy against the tree.

It's been years since Sam's been with another guy. Really, it's been way too long since he's been with anyone not Ruby. But there's something familiar about the brush of stubble against his chin, and the press of hips against his. The smoke from the firepit, now extinguished, still clings to Jimmy's skin, mixing with the smell of pine in a weird way. But it works.

He untucks Jimmy's shirt from his pants and slides his hands over his chest. He can't see, but it makes his sense of touch that much stronger. Jimmy shivers, and his skin breaks into goosebumps, which feels even better.

What gets Sam the most, as he unbuttons Jimmy's shirt, is the smoothness. Jimmy's taken as much damage as much as Sam and Dean in the last year, but Cas heals everything, and Sam has years of scars on top of scars. He always forgets, until he meets someone new, that there aren't a lot of beat-up people out there.

"Please." Jimmy's breathing hard.

Sam lowers his mouth back to Jimmy. He rubs his hands on Jimmy's back as he teases his nipples with his teeth. It gets a response right away; Jimmy grabs at Sam's hair and tugs. For the first time, Sam feels something warm on his own skin, flushing in his face and traveling lower. Jimmy's further along; when Sam makes his way down and fumbles at Jimmy's belt, he's hard and even leaking through his pants a little. Sam passes his hand over Jimmy's crotch, and Jimmy bucks into it.

He opens Jimmy's pants and lets them fall to the ground.

He's wearing boxers underneath, plain and only a little baggy. Sam pushes them down slowly, letting his hands graze over the skins of Jimmy's ass and thighs. Jimmy whimpers. Sam can't see his face anymore; he's closer to the flashlight on his knees, and anything in the darkness is just that: darkness.

Sam takes hold of Jimmy's cock and works saliva in his mouth. He can tell, by the way Jimmy shakes, that he won't last long if he teases. Probably for the best. He licks Jimmy a couple times to make sure there's some slide, and then he goes for it.

Since Sam's out of practice, he can't do anything too dramatic: a little tongue work as his lips slide up and down, and his hand past the point where he can take Jimmy. It takes him a second to get a rhythm, but it doesn't matter, since he was right about Jimmy not lasting long. Jimmy tries to tug away when he gets close, but Sam stays put, so he comes his mouth, salty and warm. Sam works him through it, and when Jimmy stops shaking and slides to the ground, Sam spits into the pine needles and helps Jimmy balance.

His lips are sore. Maybe Jimmy held out longer than he thought.

Jimmy kisses Sam's neck, and Sam lets him for a minute, but when he inches his hand down, Sam shakes his head.

"No," he whispers. "It's fine."

Jimmy blinks hard. "You sure?"

"It's not you," Sam says. Yeah. Because that'll make Jimmy feel better. "I'm just...not in the right place."

"Sure." Jimmy sounds a little hurt, and Sam can't blame him. But he doesn't feel guilty. If anything, he feels better. It's good to know he can still say no.

Sam shifts into Jimmy. After a second, Jimmy leans back.



Fights in Heaven are very different than fights on Earth. But the effect is the same: Castiel flies through the air, his grace faltering, while Raphael pursues.

He could stop. If he handed over the Winchesters.

But he doesn't, and Raphael will never find them if he kills Castiel, so he draws back, leaving Castiel alone at the edge of Heaven.

Healing is simple. If he descends to Earth and shares a vessel with a human soul, he will recover quickly. But Castiel finds himself reluctant. Jimmy already can't return to his family, and Dean...

Cas?

It can't be. Dean has no reason to call for Castiel.

And yet. Cas, get your ass down here. We need to talk.

Castiel leaves Heaven, just far enough to communicate with Earth. I can't. Raphael will find you.

Cas? How are you doing that?

Never mind, he says. It drains him to talk like this. Just be ready. He will probably hunt you soon.

Dean's voice is less in intensity. Then we'll deal with it. I said I need to talk to you.

I'm hurt, Dean.

He doesn't answer right away. Bad?

Relatively.

What the hell's that supposed to mean?

I'll die if I stay here. If I take a vessel again--

If?

Don't you think I've caused enough damage, Dean?

Nothing that can't be fixed. Even Dean's mental voice has an edge of bravado. Unless you keep pissing me off.

Castiel searches for Jimmy. He isn't in or directly next to the cabin; he and Sam rest in the forest. Together.

Interesting.

Jimmy's with Sam, Castiel tells Dean. He'll probably need your help, once I've returned.

Where?

Castiel sends Dean a mental picture. It's a mistake. He feels his spirit lag, almost too much to get to Jimmy. But Castiel calls his name, and Jimmy stirs, enough to say yes.

It's just in time. Jimmy's soul brightens Castiel's grace dramatically. It's the difference between a light bulb and the sun, even if it isn't Castiel's full power.

What happened to you? Jimmy thinks.

Raphael.

Fear shoots through Jimmy, and Castiel by association. He doesn't have the power to take full control from Jimmy. Is he coming?

I don't know.

"Cas?" Sam shakes his arm.

Jimmy shivers. Castiel had understood what they'd been doing, but it's very different being in the vessel when pleasure shocks through his body.

"Yes," Castiel says. "We have to get ready."



When Dean makes it to the clearing, Cas is lying in Sam's lap.

"Good," Cas says. His eyes roll up, and he slumps.

Dean crouches. "Cas? Hey, Cas?"

"He said he's fine."

"I don't care what he said, I--"

Dean freezes. He looks up at Sam, sweaty and with his hair ruffled. It's the first thing he's said to Sam in days.

"What the hell were you two doing out here?" Dean asks. He rolls Cas and starts to push him upward. His muscles complain, but he manages.

Sam takes half the weight once his legs are free. His hand brushes Dean's arm, and it takes everything Dean has not to pull away.

"Getting some air," he says. "That a crime now?"

"It's not a crime, but this crap happens, and--" Dean's feet catch. "Damn it."

"Here." Sam shifts an arm around Cas's waist. "Better?"

"Whatever."

Sam huffs. "Get the other flashlight, will you? I've got him."

"I've only got two hands." But Dean grabs the other flashlights from the dirt.

"So put one of them in your pocket."

Dean rolls his eyes, clicks the button, and crams the light in his jacket. He takes part of Cas's weight back. It's not easier.

They take several steps toward the cabin. As usual, their feet sync up almost right away.

"What did Cas say?" Dean asks after a while. He's breathing hard, but he's handling it.

"Not much. Just that you were coming, and that we had to be ready."

"Raphael roughed him up."

"Who's Raphael?"

"Beats me."

They run Cas's feet into a rock on the path. Cas twitches a little, but he doesn't wake up.

"We should talk," Sam says.

"Now?" Dean says.

"Yes, now. Before you try to avoid me again."

"Before I...who took the long midnight stroll?"

"It doesn't matter," Sam says, biting off the end of each word. But he sighs, and when he speaks again, it's softer. "I'm sorry, Dean. I crossed the line."

"Damn right you did."

"Because you didn't do anything screwed up?"

"Maybe I did," Dean says. He practically spits the words out. "I told you in that phone call, but you didn't pick up, so--"

Sam stops abruptly and lets go of Cas. Dean has to brace his weight against a tree. "What the hell, Sam?"

"The phone call? You meant that?"

"Every word," Dean says. Wow. Out of all the things he figured Sam'd get pissed over, this wasn't one of them. "Was it that bad?"

"You tell me."

Sam closes in and gets in Dean's face. Their noses almost touch. If Dean's hands weren't full...if Cas wasn't there...

"Sorry's not good enough for you?" Dean's voice cracks. "Whatever. I won't say it again."

Sam tilts his head. "What?"

"You heard it. You know."

"Yeah, I did. You said..." Sam steps away and laughs. "Ruby. Goddamn it."

Dean swallows. His head feels less foggy now that Sam's given him distance. That's a good thing. "What did you hear?"

"It wasn't you." Now Sam sounds wondering.

Cas groans. Dean turns to him, and Sam jumps forward to help hold him again. "Cas?"

"No. It's Jimmy."

"Jimmy?" Sam's voice squeaks on the end of the word. "What's going on?"

"He's dragging me down," he groans, and his head falls backward.

Dean snorts. "Guess we won't be talking to either of them any time soon."

"Must be their turn," Sam says. He pulls Cas forward, and Dean follows. "I don't know about you, but I'm sick of passing out."

Considering Dean'll probably have to lie down again once they're back at the cabin? Yeah. "You said it."



Normally, if Sam were left to protect two sleeping men with an angel attack on the way, he'd be antsy. And he is. He's peeking outside of the plastic coverings every chance he gets, and pacing, and checking the guns. He even eats again, that's how bored he is.

But he doesn't care. Much, anyway. Dean doesn't want him dead.

Still, he's flagging a little by sunrise. The hike took up a lot of his energy, for one reason or another. He's surprised Dean didn't read it on him: "I blew Jimmy, ask me how." But it's for the best. Who knows what'll set him off again?

"Sam?"

It's definitely Cas staring at him from the sofa. He sees Cas and Jimmy like twins: two different people who look exactly the same. He's seen both enough that he can tell the difference.

"Hey," Sam says. "How are you feeling?"

"Improved. Any sign of angels?"

"No. It's been quiet all night."

"Good," Cas says with a sigh. He leans against the arm of the couch. "Maybe they haven't found us."

"Maybe."

"How's Dean?"

"Okay. Asleep." Sam frowns. "He told me to tell you to wake him up. So you can talk."

"I see." Cas pushes up from the couch, but it isn't enough momentum. He doesn't fall over, but he sits back down. "Maybe in a couple hours."

"Yeah, it can wait."

"Do you know what he wants to talk about?"

Sam shrugs. "No clue. You need to eat? Jimmy made some burgers yesterday."

"No," Cas says, shaking his head. "Food metabolizes too fast to have any effect."

"Too bad." It would've been nice to have something to do.

They sit in silence for a minute. Sam's just gotten used to it when Cas says, "Why did you and Jimmy have sex?"

"I--what?"

"I haven't looked at Jimmy's thoughts. But sharing a body, it's...obvious."

Wow. Awkward. "He wanted to. I guess I did too."

"Do you know why he wanted to?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"He's disengaged."

Sam frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He doesn't want to be aware all the time. And my healing has tired him."

Cas makes it sound simple. But Sam's been possessed by a demon. And apparently, one of the biggest angels out there wants to go for a joyride. His body moving without him...he shivers.

"I don't know for sure," Sam says. "Maybe he wanted a human moment."

"I don't understand."

Sam waves his free hand. "It's not like you let him off the leash much. What would you do if you had a few hours after being in jail for months?"

"I was away for hours, when I was trapped in Heaven."

Sam clenches his jaw. "Humans take choice for granted, okay? He wanted to feel good. Give him a break."

"I wasn't..." Cas sighs. "I've offended you."

"Yeah. You know why?"

Cas's steady blue eyes meet Sam's. "I've taken Jimmy's life. I wish there was an alternative, but there isn't."

Sam wants to say there's always another way, but right now, there isn't. Sam needs Cas's help. And he needs it enough to trample an innocent man's rights.

He kicks his way out the front door. He won't leave again like he did the night before - Dean was right, he was acting like a kid - but looking at Cas right now is too big a reminder of what Sam needs to keep doing.



It's afternoon when Castiel is confident enough in his walking abilities to rise from the couch.

Sam lingers outside, like he has all day. A part of the plastic on the window is loose and wavers whenever Sam passes, which he does every five minutes. Castiel called out to him twice, but Sam ignored him. There's no point in trying again.

He hears a noise in the bedroom when he's halfway there, which is good. He won't make Dean angrier by waking him. Unless Dean is angry that he didn't wake him sooner.

Another noise. It sounds like a grunt. Like Dean's in pain. Castiel shuffles faster.

He stops in the door. Dean's curled in the middle of his bed, his eyes squeezed shut. Castiel opens his mouth to speak, but he sees Dean's hand move, and he looks lower...

Guess Dean's fine, Jimmy says, engaging again.

What's he doing?

Jimmy laughs a little. Masturbating. You know what that is, right?

Of course I do. He's just never seen it so close before. It's just as intriguing as the moment he caught Jimmy and Sam, if in a different way. It's a part of Dean he's never seen.

But he breaks his gaze and starts to move back. Dean wouldn't want to be watched.

As if to prove his theory, Dean groans, "Damn it, Cas."

"I'm sorry," Castiel says automatically. He hadn't meant for Dean to notice him.

Dean twitches so much, the bed slams against the wall. He scrambles backward, tugging his pants up.

Nice job, Jimmy says. Very stealthy.

But he said my name.

"What are you..." A flush colors Dean's cheeks.

"You said my name," Castiel says again. Even though it's obvious. "I...I don't..."

"Get the hell out!"

Castiel nods quickly and stumbles back into the living room.

Smooth, Jimmy says.

Ha ha, Castiel says back, echoing a thought in Jimmy's mind. It means little to him. There's still so much about humans he doesn't know.



Dean practically throws himself into the shower. He stays in there until he's long past shivering. Fucking angels that don't know how to fucking knock.

But. He'd told Sam to tell Cas to wake him up. What did he think would happen?

His boner's still there. That's the worst part.

He was thinking of Sam weeding the firepit; it was an old memory, from when Sam was seventeen and just starting to get his grown-up height and muscles. He'd taken off his shirt because he'd been hot, and Dean had stared a moment too long and tried to burn the memory in his head right away. But of course he didn't. Of course it came out at the worst goddamned times.

And now Cas had seen him jerking off. Cas had looked...well, pretty lax about it, actually. A little embarrassed, but who wouldn't be? And then he'd kept staring. He'd tripped over his words. And he'd run away. Why had he...

Dean shakes and cries out. He comes in his hand. Fuck. When'd he start up again?

He barely takes the time to rinse off the come before he stomps out of the shower and throws his clothes on. He stomps into the bedroom and grabs his boots.

"Dean?" Sam pokes his head in. "You okay?"

"Fine. Great. Absolutely fucking dandy."

Sam blanches. "What happened?"

"Doesn't matter," Dean says, but his cheeks flush as he shoves his boots on his feet. Damn his fucking pale-ass skin.

"Yeah. Because you're a prissy jerk when you're cool with things."

Dean's head jerks up. "You don't want to do this right now."

"No, I don't, it's just." Sam sighs. "We were cool. And I want to know how I screwed up."

Dean laughs and finishes the sloppy laces on his boots. Whatever, they'll hold. "It's not always about you, Sam. Believe it or not."

He gets up and shoves past him. Big mistake. Knocking shoulders feels a hell of a lot better than it should. God, if he could shove Sam around, and...no. He's not thinking this.

Cas pushes off the couch when Dean walks in. "Dean..."

"I don't want to hear it," Dean says. He pulls open the front door. It sticks, and he has to jiggle it. Piece of shit. He doesn't know why they bother, considering they don't have any goddamn windows.

"Where are you going?" Sam calls from over his shoulder.

"Out. What does it look like?" The door creaks open.

"What happened to 'stay close'? You could have an angel on your ass any second!"

"Yeah?" Dean whirls. "And whose fault is that?"

He looks at Cas, but Sam jerks as if slapped. "I...I thought..."

"It doesn't matter."

But Sam stomps the few extra feet and slams his hand on the door. It crashes closed. "You wanna say it, don't you? I broke the last seal. It's all my fault."

Dean winces. "I wasn't saying that."

"Who broke the first seal, Dean? Huh?"

That brings Dean up short. "Excuse me?"

Sam moves away. He shakes his head. "I didn't mean..."

"Yeah, you did." Dean looks over at Cas, who's been staring at them both. Watching. "What about you? You think the same thing? ‘That poor sucker, too bad he couldn't stand up to Hell like a real man’?"

"If that was anyone's fault, it was mine," Cas says. "I wasn't fast enough."

The handprint on Dean's shoulder itches. "I'm outta here."

"Dean--"

But Dean opens the door and shoves his way out. Sam doesn't try to stop him.



"I should follow," Cas says. "He left because of me."

"What?" Sam was the one who opened his big fat mouth. Cas...well, Dean might still be feeling shitty about the vessel thing, but he seemed okay.

For five seconds, everything was okay. And Sam screwed it up.

Cas gets to his feet. "I'll walk. If it's an emergency, I might be able to transport Dean instantaneously."

Sam nods. It feels like his head'll roll off his body, but he keeps nodding.

"Promise me you won't go running," Cas says.

"I won't."

It's only when he walks out the door that Sam realizes how weird Cas seemed. He sounded worried about Sam. He definitely sounded worried about Dean. He's seen Cas pissed, and stoic, but worried?

Sam goes to the ammo closet. Sitting at eye level, on the top shelf, is Ruby's knife. He only used it on her once, but it's hard to forget the way regular knives slid into the soft flesh of her arm, and the trickle of blood that followed.

"No way," Sam whispers. He takes the knife anyway. He feels better with it.

When he turns again, Dean stands in the corner. Sam's heart starts pounding in his ears.

"Damn it," he says. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry." Dean smiles. Jerk.

"Did...did Cas find you?"

"No."

Sam sighs. "Look. I shouldn't have said what I said."

"Consider it forgotten."

"I'd rather deal with it," Sam says. "I know that's not your style, but we can work on it, right?"

"Sure."

Dean's smile widens. It's...creepy, actually.

And not Dean.

Sam grabs his gun and points it at Dean's head. Not Dean. Whatever looks like Dean.

It raises its hands. "There's no need for that, Sammy."

"Yeah?" Sam scowls. "Every time something tries to look like Dean, it's not good."

"Who knows? This might buck the trend."

Sam checks out the room, keeping the imposter at the corner of his vision. All the sigils are whole, both demon and angel. He doesn't have time to check the other protections - most of them are too small to eyeball, or out of the room - but something tells him they're all in place, too.

"What are you?" Sam asks. "Show me."

"Sure."

Dean disappears, and a man Sam doesn't recognize takes his place. The skin on his face is scabbed slightly and corpse-pale.

"You ran off, Sam," he says. "But I found you. I always will."

Shit. "Lucifer?"

Lucifer waves a hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

"Get out," Sam snarls. The gun won't do him a damn bit of good, but he doesn't lower it. "I'm not gonna say yes."

"Who told you? Was it Castiel? He does have a mouth."

"Look who's talking."

Lucifer chuckles. "That is what I'm known for, isn't it? What can I say, I like telling stories."

Sam looks toward the door. Maybe he can make a run for it. He doesn't know how Lucifer's here; maybe he's just a vision or something. Maybe he could make it to Dean.

"Why bother?" Lucifer says. "They left you. Neither of them have your back."

Sam bites back a response. Lucifer can play his game; it doesn't mean Sam has to play along. Instead, he shifts sideways. It's obvious where he's going, but then, it must've been obvious all along.

"It won't work."

Lucifer's right. The door doesn't budge. Sam carefully avoids looking at the plastic.

"How did you get here?" Sam asks.

Lucifer rubs his hands together. "I have my ways."

"Good for you."

"Don't worry, Sam. I only want to talk. Unless you'd like to tell me where you are."

"Yeah. I know what you want." If he steps closer to the window, he'll be closer to Lucifer. That's probably why he's standing where he is: he has the entire corner of the house with the windows covered. But Sam steps forward and tries to make it look like he's shifting his feet.

Lucifer's face folds. "I'm sorry, Sam. I really am. This isn't fair to either of us."

Sam agrees with half of that. But he's in no mood to play pity party. "I'll never say yes to you."

"But you will." Lucifer's smile is apologetic. Bastard really knows how to play the angles. "I even know where and when. Privilege of being an angel."

Sam's mouth goes dry. "The future isn't set in stone."

"Some things are."

Lucifer steps closer, and Sam shifts back far enough that the kitchen counter digs into his back. He lowers the gun; his arms are starting to hurt, and he might need them later.

"I don't believe that," Sam says.

"No. But you will. We'll have a long time together, and I'll show you everything you don't know. You might even enjoy it."

"Never."

Lucifer shrugs. "You'll see. Soon."

The door slams open as Lucifer disappears. Sam looks over long enough to see it's Dean. He raises the gun.

"Prove that it's you," he says. His voice cracks.

Dean's hands are up. "Sam. Put the gun down."

"Just do it!"

Dean shows off his tattoo, and he says, "We had a fight five minutes ago. I just realized I was being an idiot, and I came back. What about you?"

Sam lowers the gun and slumps against the counter. "Fuck."

Dean half-jogs over to Sam. He puts a hand on his shoulder. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"He was here."

"Who?"

"Lucifer."

There's not much light in the room - Sam never hit the switch after the sun went down - but he sees Dean lose the color in his face. "What...how..."

"I don't know. I think he was in my head or something." He sees Dean wince, and he adds quickly, "Not like that. But the angel sigils are still up, and I don't...I don't know..."

"Jesus." Dean pulls Sam into a hug.

Sam sniffles. He's not crying. At least, not about Lucifer. Dean with his arms around him, just days after they beat each other to a pulp? That might cue the waterworks.

Dean trails his fingers in Sam's hair. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you, Sammy."

But Dean didn't leave last time. Sam did. And that's why this is happening. It's all his fault. It's all...

"No." Dean pulls back, and Sam cries out quietly, but it's only so he can grab Sam's face. "Look at me, okay? Everything in the past, it's done. We'll fix this. We always do."

"But then we screw something else up," Sam says.

"That's part of being alive, I guess." Dean leans his forehead against Sam's. "Don't give up on me."

"Never," Sam whispers.

He isn't sure how it happens after that. Sam and Dean lean on each other for a while, and it's all well and good, and then they're looking. And then their faces move closer. And then...

Dean skitters across the room like something bit him. He doesn't stop until he hits the wall on the other side, and even then, he flattens against the wall as far as he can.

"Sam," he says in a small voice. "I didn't. I wouldn't."

But. Sam covers his mouth with a hand. He can feel Dean like he can feel his own skin.

He half-runs across the room, his heart pounding in his throat. Dean only has a minute to stare at him, wide-eyed, before Sam pushes his lips against Dean's.

This shouldn't feel right. But it does. Warmth spreads through Sam, not in a turned-on way, but like he's swallowed the sun or something equally as sappy and poetic. He wraps his arms around Dean and presses them together. The feeling grows.

"Dean," he says into Dean's mouth.

But Dean pulls his head back. He doesn't push at Sam's arms or anything, but he looks like he isn't sure if he should be happy or terrified.

"You okay?" Sam asks. He can't help the little gasp of laughter that ends the sentence.

"I..." Dean swallows. "I've been thinking. But I thought it was the angel blood."

"Why?"

"I've been hornier?" Leave it to Dean to put it delicately. But the erection pressing into Sam's hip doesn't exactly prove Dean wrong. "And you're Sam."

On anyone else, it would sound stupid. But it's Dean. So he gets it.

They kiss again. Sam isn't sure who starts it, but it's a lot more careful, more testing. Not that Sam's hesitant or anything. No, for the first time since Dean went to Hell, it feels like everything's falling into place.

Dean must feel the same way. He wraps his arms around Sam's back and pulls him closer, like Sam's doing to him. Sam knows he's being a big gross sap because he could stand like this all night, just kissing Dean, just knowing Dean's got him and he's got Dean and knowing they want this and each other and god, why did this take so long? Why hadn't he seen it before?

Sam finally breaks away and starts trailing kisses on Dean's jaw. Dean's eyes are closed, and he tilts his neck to give Sam easier access. Sam takes the lobe of Dean's ear into his teeth for a second, and then he whispers, "Is this okay?"

Dean nods.

Sam guides Dean to the floor, and Dean lets him. They could go for the bedroom - probably should, if Cas is still looking for Dean - but it's not like he'd knock even if they did. And there's no way Sam's stopping until Dean wants to.

They lie side by side on the wood. It's chilly, but they're both fully clothed, so it's not bad. Sam presses up to Dean; he's hard now, and his jeans are tight, but mostly he just needs to be close. It doesn't stop him from moaning when Dean rocks his hips against Sam, or when Dean drags his teeth on Sam's neck and grabs Sam's hair again.

After a while, they build up momentum. Sam's talking, he can feel his throat vibrate against Dean's tongue, but he doesn't hear any of the words. If they're even words. Dean untucks Sam's shirt and drags his fingernails down his back, not hard, but he feels every line.

For the first time...well, ever, Sam's thinking about what Dean's mouth would look like on his cock. Or what his fingers would feel like in Sam's ass. Or - fuck - what his own cock would feel like in Sam's ass, what Dean would look like with his legs open and no wonder Sam never thought about this because he would've fucking lost it just like he's about to lose it and god god--

Dean moans and jerks against Sam. And that's it. He arches into Dean and comes. Every muscle's squeezed so tight it should hurt, but it doesn't.

It ends, and every muscle in Sam's body loosens. Dean's on his back, his hands on his chest as it rises and falls.

"Crap," Dean says. "These are my only jeans."

Sam barks a laugh and rolls over, resting his arm over Dean. "Yeah. Mine too."



Castiel doesn't let himself back into the cabin until after the Winchesters are asleep. They're curled into each other on the floor, sweat drying on their skin. Their smell is strong in the air.

Seriously? Jimmy's known for several minutes now - Castiel had to stay close, once he realized Dean was in the cabin - but he keeps repeating himself. But they're brothers!

It doesn't bother Castiel. Sexual relationships are very human, but intimate relationships amongst angels are common, and they're all siblings. It isn't like Jimmy's really bothered; he just thinks he should be.

No, what scares Castiel more is the depth of their bond. They're getting along now. If this implodes, the end of the world will be the inevitability Heaven insists it is.

Like you wouldn't do stupid crap for them, Jimmy says. Or you haven't already.

Jimmy isn't wrong. It should make Castiel worry. But he's too busy wondering if the Winchesters would do the same for him.

Probably not. People let you down.

Jealousy burns in Jimmy's gut. He won't let Jimmy know, but Castiel finds it interesting that Jimmy loves his wife, is attracted to Sam, thinks Sam and Dean's bond is wrong, but he finds nothing contradictory in all of the above.

Do you...

What? Jimmy says, half-distracted.

You can take control, if you wish.

It's not quite the same for angels and demons. Demons have on/off switches: either the demon's in charge, or the human is. They can allow humans to watch while they're in control, and they can watch while humans are in control, but that's all. Angels, on the other hand, can take equal shares in power with humans, or adjust accordingly. It doesn't happen often - humans are too uncoordinated and inexperienced to truly handle that kind of power - but it's a possibility.

Castiel feels Jimmy following his thoughts. Wow.

Not all the time, you understand. Just when it's safe.

Is it ever safe?

Not entirely.

Jimmy laughs without humor. Yeah. Figured as much.

But I'm still letting you.

Letting me use my own body. Thanks. But he moves a hand. And then he stares at it like he's never seen it before.

"Holy crap," Jimmy whispers.

Dean snorts on the floor. Jimmy covers his mouth with a hand just in time to cover up a laugh.

What's funny? Castiel asks.

I don't have to be trapped anymore? Not full time?

Not all the time, no.

Jimmy laughs again. He starts walking into the bedroom.

Wait. Does this mean we could check on Amelia? And Claire?

Jimmy, Castiel begins.

I don't mean talk to them. I just mean...look. We could go right now, be back in a second.

Castiel knows better than anyone that it wouldn't be just a second. But he says, I am still healing. I need to conserve my power in case of an attack.

Right, right, Jimmy says. Later? When you can travel again?

The only chance they have is if attention isn't drawn to them.

Yeah. Jimmy sits on a bed and hangs his head in his hands. You can take control back.

But--

What does it matter? You should just do your thing.

Castiel could slip back in full command all too easily. But he thinks, Only when I have to.

Jimmy draws back on his own. But as Castiel lies on the bed to rest his eyes - he'll heal faster if he doesn't push himself physically - he feels Jimmy on the edges, occasionally twitching a finger and blinking.



Dean wakes up before Sam.

Sam's drooling and snoring like he usually does. He can be really disgusting. But Dean grins anyway. He doesn't bop him on the nose - the guy gets really grouchy if he wakes up early - but it's tempting.

Instead, he pulls to his feet. Every muscle in his body seems to groan at once. It's what he gets for sleeping on the floor.

Without waking up, Sam pats the floor where Dean was, eventually stilling. Dork. It doesn't kill Dean's smile, though.

He heads toward the back - probably for the bathroom, but he doesn't really have a destination in mind - and spots Cas lying in the bedroom. Wow. He must've been out of it if he didn't notice him coming back in.

Cas opens his eyes when Dean walks in. "Hello, Dean."

"Hey," Dean says. "Lucifer paid a visit last night."

Cas straightens up. "Is Sam--"

"Still Sam? Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be," Dean says. "We don't have angel tests."

Cas pushes a hand through his hair. "He probably doesn't know Sam's exact location. We would know if he did."

"How?"

"Either Sam would be gone, or he'd tell you before leaving. Lucifer would love to tease Michael's vessel." Cas quirks an eyebrow. "Or the cabin would burn down."

"Why?"

"So he could get rid of the sigils."

"Oh." Dean's starting to appreciate Bobby's panic room more. Although the walls would probably work like a furnace if the rest of the house was on fire. Happy thoughts. "So we need to get a move on, if that's okay."

Cas's eyes narrow in thought. "I might be able to take you to Bobby Singer's. But I would probably be unconscious for a week after."

This would be a crap time for angel backup to be out of commission. "Okay, there a better plan?"

"I will probably be near full strength in another day. Two, at most."

Dean flexes his hands. He hates feeling penned in. It makes him itchy. "Guess we'll go with that, then."

"I'll let you know as soon as I'm able, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean says, waving a hand.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

Dean blinks. "Huh?"

"I..." Cas looks at the floor. "When I interrupted you. Sam told me you wanted to talk."

Oh. Oh. Dean clenches his jaw. He isn't sure he wants to ask. Not anymore. "I just wanted to know about the angel blood. What it does."

"I don't understand."

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. Of all the things he wanted to do today, giving an angel the Talk wasn't one of them. "Does it make people. Uh. More aroused?"

"I've never heard of it happening." But when Dean opens his eyes, Cas is frowning. "It's been centuries since vessels were made in this manner. And I never saw firsthand."

"So you don't know."

"No."

Dean's had bad ideas in his time. But he's pretty sure what he's about to say next tops them all. "Do you...maybe you should take a look. From the inside."

Cas's eyebrows almost disappear into his hair. Considering he doesn't have a low hairline, that's really saying something. "Do you really want to?"

"I really, really don't."

"So--"

"But I need to know," Dean says. If this changes, if he'll feel different about Sam, he doesn't want to find out the hard way. Harder way. This way isn't exactly easy.

"If you're sure."

Dean starts to nod. But Cas stands, and he puts a hand on Dean's face, and he feels heat in his stomach. It doesn't help when Cas's thumb drags on Dean's cheek.

"Dean?" Cas asks, his voice slightly lower.

"I." He breathes in. "Yes."

He gasps as the energy takes over his body again. It burns head to toe...no, it burns hair to shoes, like even what's nearby gets sucked in. It's like fucking Beauty and the Beast, with light coming out of his fingers and toes and glowing everywhere.

When it ends, Jimmy gasps in front of Dean. And Sam's voice calls his name from the living room.

"I'll go talk to him," Jimmy says right away. His voice is so much higher when he's not Cas. It's weird. "Take as much time as you need."

Sure, yeah. Take your time as an angel condom, Dean, I'll just run off and never see you again.

Jimmy won't run, Cas says once Jimmy leaves, closing the door behind him. It's funny how he even sounds like Jimmy in Dean's head.

How do you know?

It'd be pointless. He understands.

Way to be cryptic.

I won't betray Jimmy's trust, Cas says. He actually sounds annoyed.

Don't worry, I'm not trying to violate your Hippocratic Oath or whatever. Dean flexes his fingers. He frowns. Wait. How am I doing that?

I'm here as an observer, Dean. Unless there's an emergency, I won't intervene.

Oh. So what should I do?

Whatever causes you to be aroused, I guess.

Wow. Dean really didn't think this through. He either has to go look at Sam - which, yeah, no fucking way - or he has to...

You don't have to do anything. If it'd make you uncomfortable.

You're the one who sounds uncomfortable.

I've never...participated in anything. Sexually. The words sound super forced.

Wait. You're a virgin?

Cas sniffs. Angels aren't sexual beings.

But you ride around in humans all the time. And in case I'm missing something, a lot of humans like sex.

It isn't as if they can readily consent.

It's a double-standard. Cas won't cross any lines once he's in the body, but he'll use every trick to get in the body in the first place. Still, it's probably better to have some boundaries than none. Even if it makes Dean's skin crawl.

He claps his hands together. "Buckle your seat belt, then."

He unbuttons his jeans and sits on the bed. But as he starts to reach in, he wonders. Should he makes this special? This'll be Cas's first...anything. He probably shouldn't do his quick, bedtime-style jerk. Or maybe he should. Get it over with.

In the back of his head, he can feel Cas following Dean's thoughts. Got any preferences? Dean asks.

I have no firsthand experience. The nervous tone's still there.

Dean frowns. Wait, do you even want to do this?

It's my responsibility to make sure you're not sick or hurt.

But you should get a say in this. Two to tango, you know.

I don't understand that reference, Cas says, but yes. I'm curious.

Great. All he needs is Cas to take notes to get the full animal-in-the-zoo experience. Next, he'll say he has to mate Dean to save the species or something.

This isn't sexy, Dean grumbles, but he grabs his cock roughly. It feels more like he's about to take a piss than anything. He rubs a couple times and squeezes his eyes shut. Still doesn’t work.

He feels Cas hovering in his head, like he wants to say something. Spit it out.

May I try?

Whoa. Okay. Dean shivers a little, but it's not from disgust. Entirely, anyway. Give it a shot.

It's the weirdest fucking sensation in the world. Dean's blinking, and he's shifting on the bed to keep his back from hurting too much, but he's not the one moving his hand. Hell, the hand doesn't entirely feel like his anymore. But his dick still does, so it's like he's shifted from solo job to hand job in the blink of an eye. He wouldn't have figured, but yeah, that so does it for him.

"Fuck," he says. He throws his head back.

Cas stops. Are you all right?

"Don't," Dean says. Crap, he's talking out loud. He probably shouldn't, with Jimmy and Sam in the other room, but his brain's derailing completely. "Don't stop."

Cas starts again. He squeezes a little hard, like Dean was earlier, but he eases up after a second and starts dragging the tips of Dean's fingers.

This seems in line with Jimmy's memories, Cas says. I've never fed him angel blood, so my best guess is that you're fine.

"Oh," Dean says. Okay, moans.

This means we can stop now.

"Hell no."

Cas laughs a little. Okay, that shouldn't be hot.

"Try the other hand," Dean says. "Just...try something."

Dean touching anywhere but his cock while he jerks off doesn't do much for him. But when Cas takes over and starts rubbing Dean's arm, and Dean loses the direct sensation of both hands...his toes are curling. And he doesn't have hands to grab with.

He kicks his feet a little. His cock's at full staff now. Dean's whimpering. If Cas could just finish it...

I'm sorry. Am I doing this wrong?

"No, really no, don't...don't stop..."

Cas closes Dean's hand around his cock and pumps faster. Precome's leaking out of Dean, and god the slide would feel amazing, less raw.

Of course. This could get painful. Cas takes the hand off Dean's cock and raises it. Open your mouth.

Dean shudders a laugh and opens his mouth. Cas shoves all the fingers in - way to be done with the teasing - and Dean licks like there's no tomorrow. It takes him a few minutes to get the saliva where it needs to be, but Cas is sliding Dean's fingers and stretching his lips, and -

He pulls the fingers out and slides them on Dean's cock, mixing it with the precome. Oh. Yeah. That.

"Say something," Dean says.

Like what?

"Don't care. Just out loud."

"I don't know what you want me to say," Cas says.

Fuck. Dean's voice has never had him arching his back like this before. "Don't care. Just keep talking."

Cas does. Dean stops hearing the words the more Cas's hand moves on his dick, but he can't make noise, he can't yell like he wants to, and it's perfect, so perfect yes.

His hands are his again as he shivers in the aftershocks. He drops one on his stomach...fuck. He already messed his jeans, and now his shirt's covered in come.

Allow me, Cas says. He pulls Dean's shirt a little, and just like that, his clothes are clean. Clothesline in the breeze clean, even.

"Figures," Dean says. He laughs and shoves a hand through his sweaty hair. "I didn't think you'd have a million trenchcoats lying around."

Dean figures he could lie around forever. But Sam calls out from the living room.

"Shit," Dean says. He stuffs himself back in his pants and runs out of the bedroom.



"They're doing what?"

"I know," Jimmy says.

This isn't what Sam expected to wake up to. Well, he hadn't expected anything, but if he had, he might've thought of snuggling and pancakes. Not that there's pancake batter.

He drops his head in his hands. "Did he say why?"

"Yeah, but..."

"No, I'm not playing," Sam says, scowling. "Tell me."

"He thought it might've been the angel blood." Jimmy's playing with the hem of his shirt and staring at the floor. The part of the floor where Sam and Dean had been just an hour ago. "That made him. Uh."

But I thought it was the angel blood. Past tense. Sam remembers. Of course it wasn't enough. Of course Dean would keep doubting himself.

Sam laughs, and Jimmy twitches.

"It doesn't bother you?" Jimmy asks.

"I don't know," Sam says, shaking his head. "But it's so Dean."

Jimmy's watching him like he's sprouted another head. Funny. Sam hooks up with Jimmy, then follows up with Dean, who follows up with Cas. He could see Dean calling it the Circle Jerk of Life or something. He snorts.

"It's not funny," Jimmy grumbles. He sounds like a five-year-old.

It's a little funny. Mostly because it's so fucking weird. But minus the angelic possession part, there's something really...normal about sex, even with Dean. Especially with Dean. A lot's broken in his life, but this isn't one of them.

Jimmy blinks hard and runs for the window.

"What?" Sam says, sitting up.

"Did you see..." He points. "There it was again."

Sam stands and jogs over. Jimmy's pointing through the plastic, which is opaque and impossible to see through.

"I don't..."

But then he does. A flash of golden light out in the distance.

Sam goes for the front door and yanks it open. Clouds are building in the sky, darkening the morning light, and sure enough, there's another flash of light in the distance. It isn't lightning. Lightning doesn't strike in a funnel.

"They're looking for us," Sam says. He slams the front door. "Dean!"

It only takes a second for Dean to run into the living room, looking like he always does. Except his cheeks are really red, and his lips look swollen. How the hell did they manage that?

"What's up?" he says. It is Dean, with his darting eyes and slightly wild expression.

"Where's Cas?" Sam asks.

"Here." Whoa. For a split second, Dean's eyes go unblinking, and his voice sounds way deeper than he should manage. Then he's Dean again. "What's going on?"

Sam yanks a corner of the plastic away from the window. The staple goes flying, and the plastic tries to pull out of Sam's hand in the breeze, but he holds on. "Look."

Dean does. There's another flash. "Shit."

"Yeah," Sam says. "Cas, you think we should leave?"

Dean's head shakes. "They would see us if we did."

"But they know where we are."

"Only generally." Dean paces, and he's holding his head like Dean would. But he's staring like Cas. Sam's head feels like it's exploding. "They probably saw me land in the clearing. But the cabin is protected enough that we're hidden from view if we stay."

"Like sitting ducks? They can walk, can't they? They've got eyes."

"They won't." Cas sounds sure. "It won't occur to them. That's one of the protections on the house."

Sam's just starting to get used to it when Dean talks again. "So we're Hogwarts all of a sudden?"

"Guess so," Sam says. Dean probably said it for his benefit; Cas wouldn't understand. "They have charms on Hogwarts to keep Muggles from seeing it."

"Nerd."

"Jerk."

They grin at each other.

"Oh, come on," Jimmy says with a groan. "This isn't good. We have to cook our food outside, don't we? With fire? How are we gonna eat?"

Sam frowns. "Bobby didn't give us anything like chips? Or cereal?"

"There's a couple bags of potato chips, yeah," Jimmy says, "but that'll last what, one meal?"

"We don't need more," Cas says, standing more with his posture than Dean's. "I'm almost recovered. If we wait them out, they might leave and we might be able to sneak away. They probably think we've left already."

"That's a lot of maybes," Jimmy says. "Especially if we can't eat."

"If I return to use you as a vessel, you won't have to worry."

"Whoa, no," Sam says. Dean gives him an incredulous face. No way would Cas look at him like that. "You can't put on a light show now."

Jimmy's bobbing his head. Whether it's because he doesn't want to be a vessel again or because he agrees, Sam isn't sure, but he says, "Yeah. You can't tell me they wouldn't pick up on it."

"So I'm stuck like this?" Dean says.

"You volunteered," Jimmy says.

Sam's really glad not to be on the returning end of the glare Dean shoots his way. "You know, for someone who spends a lot of time whining--"

"Can we not?" Sam says. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's just for a few more hours, one way or the other."

The showdown goes pretty much how Sam expects it would. Dean glares until Jimmy breaks - he hasn't had the years of practice Sam has, and even those aren't always enough - and nods. "Yeah, sure. I'm hungry anyway."

He goes in the kitchen and digs in the plastic bag. Sam sighs and follows.



Being Dean Winchester is a very different experience than being Jimmy Novak.

There are some similarities, of course. More than Castiel would've expected. Neither of them like to sit around in a living room with nothing to do but stare out the window. Neither of them like being vessels, although Castiel suspects that's a common experience for the majority of humanity. And both of them are jealous about Sam.

But when Dean lets Castiel wander around the room in his body, he's half-amused, not passive and resigned. He's also never been reverent toward Castiel, not in the same way Jimmy was. It took a long time for Jimmy's awe over flight and teleportation to wear off, and the first time he crossed into the fields of Heaven, he wept in his own mind. Dean would take Heaven in just as much stride as everything else in his life.

And Dean would never break. Not like Jimmy has. Even now, while Jimmy naps in the corner, his shoulders are slumped. Dean and Castiel pass by, and he nods in his sleep. Castiel isn't sure he knows how to say no anymore.

Castiel finds himself watching Sam quite a bit. Dean's looking, of course, and the two exchange quiet smiles for what appears to be no reason every few minutes. But Cas watches how patient Sam is in comparison to the other two men in the room, how he can sit and be lost in thought for minutes at a time without difficulty. It's intriguing.

Which is why Castiel sits on the couch and touches Sam's arm before Dean. Dean wants to, but every time Dean makes a move, the sight of Jimmy in the corner stops him. He feels that Dean relaxes with the contact, and he himself is soothed.

"Cas?" Sam says. Castiel blinks.

"You know me?"

"Uh, yeah." Sam's mouth quirks in a half-smile. "Something wrong?"

"No, I just..." He pulls his hand back. "Forgive me."

Sam smiles. "No. It's okay. I get it, it's boring."

"I'm not bored." He isn't. Even if he was, he's lived for millennia; it isn't as if he doesn't know how to pass a few hours by himself. But he's stayed distant from humanity for so much of that time that getting to be up close is a heady experience.

That's what she said, Dean says in his head, and snorts.

"How are you doing, Dean?"

Castiel still isn't entirely used to sharing the body. He doesn't have problems - Dean's impulses work just as well as Castiel's own - but the gestures feel foreign, unmatched. Part of being human, he guesses.

"As good as I can be, I guess." Dean sighs. "You aren't pissed?"

"About what?"

Dean gestures at his body. "What do you think?"

"Are you pissed?"

"Huh?"

Sam points at Jimmy. "You do know that we...right?"

"Uh. Now I do."

"It was before," Sam says quickly. "Before we...you didn't figure it out?"

"Guess not." Dean stands up. "You like him?"

"What?"

"You want to run off and have his babies?"

Sam kicks out a foot. "Shut up, asshole."

Dean dodges it easily. "So I guess you're saying you aren't jealous."

"Yeah. I guess I am."

They grin at each other again. Apparently, neither are sick of the action. Castiel isn't, either.

Dean flops on the couch again. Sam leans on him.

"So what next?" Sam asks.

"Visiting Bobby, checking on my baby--" Dean sighs. "God, I'm glad she's with Bobby."

"Now should I be jealous?"

Dean digs a finger into Sam's side. "And then we stop the end of the world. The usual, I guess."

Sam slaps at his hand. Dean slaps back. But Sam pulls back with a sigh.

"I wasn't really talking about that," Sam says. "I was more thinking...you're not gonna get weird, are you?"

"Weird?"

"Yeah. Once we leave, and Bobby's around, and other people we know. I don't want." He cuts off with a deep breath.

"Me neither," Dean says, a little gruff.

"But it might."

"Yeah. Can't promise it won't."

"Okay," Sam says. He's smiling again, but he's blinking quite a bit, like he has something in his eyes. "As long as we know that."

Dean, this can't happen.

Shut up, Cas.

The fate of the world is on both your shoulders. Castiel can't tell if his heart races because of Dean or because of himself. You can't lose Sam.

You think I don't know that?

"What?" Sam touches their arm. "Is Cas..."

"We're fine," Castiel says. "I'm just concerned. For you both."

Dean grumbles in the next breath. "Well, keep that shit to yourself."

"I have been," Cas says. "But I'm in just as much danger as the both of you. You two need to trust each other."

Sam laughs. It's not the quiet, understated sounds he's been making for the past several hours: it's loud, startling, and seems to involve his entire body.

"We need to..." He laughs and gasps. "Trust each other."

Jimmy startles awake in the corner. "Whazzat? Angels?"

"Go back to sleep," Dean says. He's shaking his head. "Shut up, Sam."

"I just never knew it was that easy! Trust each other!"

"Did I say something funny?" Castiel asks.

"What do you think?" Dean says. He pats Sam's leg and stands up again. "I'll give you a minute, chuckles."

"I'm fine! Come on."

Sam grabs Dean's hand, but Dean doesn't sit back down. Sam pulls himself up instead and lays a kiss on Dean's cheek. It's nothing to Dean - just a bare touch of intimacy - but Castiel shivers.

Not bad, huh? Dean thinks.

Not at all.

"Get a room," Jimmy mutters.

"Good idea." Sam yanks Dean's arm and takes them into the bedroom.

"Hey, I wasn't serious!" Jimmy yells as he shuts the door behind him.

Sam pushes Dean against the door and kisses him. It's lazy, and Dean relaxes into it without hesitation. But Castiel, without meaning to, makes a small noise.

"Whoa." Sam's stepped back. Castiel had to open Dean's eyes; Dean was content to wait. "Was that you, Cas?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"No, no!" Sam paces to the other side of the room and back. "Fuck. I forgot."

"He's fine with it, Sam," Dean says, huffing a quiet sigh. "I wouldn't have gone along with it if he wasn't."

"Yes," Castiel agrees. "You are very attractive."

Sam looks like he wants to laugh again. "Did you really just say that?"

"Was it wrong?"

Sam rolls his eyes, but he takes Dean's face in his hands and looks at him. Looks at them both. Castiel has never felt as if someone could see through a vessel before into and into him, but apparently, there's a first time for everything.

"You're fine," Sam says quietly, and he goes for a kiss again.

This time, Dean lets Castiel have a turn. Sam seems to know it; he stays still and lets Castiel explore. Castiel has Dean's memories and whatever he took from Jimmy, so he knows Sam enjoys having his lower lip nibbled. It provokes an immediate response; Sam kisses back, dragging his fingers down the side of Dean's face. Which feels good.

"Is this really the time?" Sam says as Castiel goes to kiss Sam's fingers. "I mean, we don't know when we have to leave."

"When's it ever the right time?" Dean says back. His lips move over Sam's skin as he talks. Castiel likes it.

"Good point." Sam looks back over his shoulder. "What do you say? We could put the cots together."

"Like we did that one summer?"

Castiel sees the memory in Dean's head: Sam was seven and Dean eleven, and Sam scared of thunderstorms. Apparently, he grew out of it. At the time, Dean kept their beds together - unrusted and much cleaner then, with sheets and pillows - and let Sam sleep next to him, hugging him every time thunder woke him up.

"Something like that."

They each take a cot and shove them into the center of the room. It takes some effort - Dean refuses to use any of Castiel's available strength - but before long, there's a cloud of dust in the middle of the room and two beds, nestled side-by-side.

I could've done it easily, Cas thinks.

Not really the point. Dean smirks. Hey. Why don't you strip us down?

Me?

Yeah. Give it a shot.

Castiel takes off Dean's coat. He isn't sure what significance it has, but it's nice to have the extra weight gone. Where should I put it?

Anywhere, it doesn't matter. And go slow.

"Where's the amulet?" Sam asks. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes wide.

"With Jimmy," Castiel says. "It's supposed to be able to find God."

"Yeah? Does it light up?"

He suspects Sam is teasing him, but he considers the answer seriously. "It's supposed to give a sign. I'm not sure what."

"Huh. I never knew that."

Castiel takes off Dean's shirts next: first, the plaid overshirt, followed by the fitted undershirt. He goes slow, like Dean suggested, and he feels the chilly air on Dean's skin as well as the drag of Dean's fingertips. It's odd. He's already been intimate with Dean's body, but something about the action feels much more intimate than anything they've done before.

Sam watches. He's intrigued, it's obvious by his heavier breathing, but he also looks scared. Castiel doesn't understand.

We haven't done this yet, Dean thinks. He sounds nervous as well. Or much of anything.

"Do you want me to be part of this?" Castiel asks out loud. "Both of you?"

"Yeah," Dean says right away. "I really kind of do."

Sam doesn't say anything, but he nods, and Dean seems satisfied with it.

Castiel sits, shirtless, next to Sam. He's much more aware of Sam without clothing to buffer him; he sees why humans like it. He takes Sam's hand in both of Dean's, and guides it to the handprint scar on Dean's bare shoulder. His hands are larger.

"I'm here," he whispers, for both of their benefits.

Sam swallows, but he smiles. "Good thing."

He takes his own jacket and shirts off. Castiel thinks, belatedly, that they won't have much opportunity to redress if there's an emergency. But he's never been naked before. He won't pass up the chance.

Wait, really? Dean thinks.

Vessels are supposed to make angels able to pass on Earth without attracting attention, Castiel thinks back. Being naked is attention-grabbing.

Wow. Call me crazy, but that sounded like sarcasm.

Perhaps it was.

Dean snorts and leans forward as Sam gets the last of his shirts off. Like Dean, his skin is covered in scars. Dean finds one, jagged and raised over Sam's collarbone, and drags the tip of his tongue along the edge. Sam shivers.

What purpose do scars have? Castiel wonders. He always wipes Jimmy's away.

Watch and learn. Dean tilts his head to the side, and Sam's lips find a circular scar. He kisses it gently, and a tingle passes all over Dean's skin.

Oh.

"You're so gentle," Dean says to Sam.

"That a bad thing?"

"Just figured you'd be the throw ‘em down and ravish ‘em type."

"I am, believe me," Sam says. He grins. "Want a demonstration?"

He pushes Dean to the mattress easily. Whoa. Kid wasn't kidding. Sam shoves Dean's hands over his head and works at his belt, but they stay eye-to-eye.

"That's the nice thing about being tall," Sam says. "There aren't many people who could overpower me."

"Oh, please. I could take you down."

"Like you did last time?"

Dean freezes. Sam does too.

"Shit," Sam says.

Dean can't feel his face. "Don't talk about that," he says quietly.

"Yeah." Sam nods. "God, Dean..."

"Are you sorry? I mean, really sorry?" When Dean's voice cracks, Sam lets go of his hands. But Dean grabs his wrists before he can draw back. "Don't you dare."

"I'm sorry," Sam whispers. He looks away.

Dean takes his hands off his wrists. "Then show me."



Dean's kissing Sam again. Dean, because Cas is hesitant, where Dean's all confidence. Dean holds Sam to him, like he never wants him to leave, and that's enough.

Sam pushes Dean back to the bed and yanks at his clothes. He needs to see him all now: his tattoo, his scars, his legs, his cock. He needs to suck his cock right the fuck now, before his mouth gets him in trouble again.

Dean's bigger than Jimmy, if not as long, but that's a good thing. When Sam sticks Dean's cock in his mouth, so quickly he nearly chokes, he's too busy making sure he's keeping his teeth away and too busy digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Dean's ass to think about anything else. He's never really deep throated before - he's never been sure he could handle it - but he relaxes his jaw as much as he can, and it works.

"Sam, Sam, Sam." Sam stills. But Dean grabs the mattress, and Sam gets he's not asking him to stop. So he starts going again.

He pulls his best tricks: fingernails on the thighs, palms pushing up the stomach, even a hint of teeth that makes Dean hiss with pleasure. But Dean's obviously done this more than a few times because Sam's jaw is killing him by the time he starts to shake. Not that he's complaining. It's amazing watching Dean's close-eyed pleasure switch to Castiel's open-eyed amazement and back. He's never seen anything like it. No one probably has.

Sam isn't sure who grabs Sam's shoulders when they're about to come. But someone does, and come shoots in Sam's mouth. Sam takes it all and swallows.

"Fuck." That's definitely Dean.

Sam pulls back and wiggles his jaw. "You said it."

"What do you want now?"

"Me?" Sam says. "I want to fuck you."

Dean grins wickedly. "I can get on board with that."

"But we don't have lube," Sam says, his stomach sinking. "Or condoms."

"Angel, remember? If you've got something, it won't touch me."

"Oh." That's an application of super healing he never expected. "Still doesn't stop the fact that it would hurt like hell."

Dean shakes his head. "Even if Cas wasn't around, I can take a little damage. If you prepare me right."

"For real? You've done this before?"

"Don't act so surprised." Dean spreads his legs further. "And get to work."

Sam slaps his hand on Dean's chest. Not to hurt: just to remind him who's running the show. "You first."

"You won't last."

"Try me."

Dean shrugs and sits up. Then Cas is the one undoing Sam's belt. "I will try to make this as good for you as possible," Cas says.

Sam snorts. "Thanks."

Castiel's a lot less showy than Dean; he pushes Sam's jeans down carefully, letting him lean back so he can kick them off entirely. Sam's only half-hard, but when Cas looks at his cock through Dean's eyes and dips his head, it takes care of the rest.

"Don't worry about making a mess," Sam says. "That's how it's supposed to happen."

"Yes," Cas agrees. He wraps a hand around Sam and sticks out his tongue. He drags it across the head of Sam's cock, paying special attention to the slit, and Sam shivers.

"You're cheaters," he says, breathy. "Both of you."

"Damn straight," Dean says. But Cas is the one that lowers his mouth onto Sam's cock all the way, working up and down slowly, so slowly, way too fucking slowly. Sam grabs Dean's hair, but Dean pulls off.

"Thought you said you could make it."

"I can. Keep going."

"No, I think it's my turn." Dean sits back, his smile positively angelic. Except Cas would never look that innocent. Asshole.

Sam goes for it. He flips Dean onto his stomach and parts the cheeks of his ass, then he licks the sensitive skin between. Dean squirms, and Sam smacks his ass lightly. "Hold still."

"Make...make me." The snotty tone's not as effective when he's gasping. Sam laughs, and Dean squirms even more.

Sam digs his fingers into Dean's hips. When Dean stills, he sticks his tongue inside.

It turns out Dean's right. Sam adds a finger not long after his tongue, and Dean only shivers. Sam takes out his tongue and uses another finger; Dean groans.

"Wow," Sam says. "This would hurt like hell if you tried it with me."

"You've done this before?" Dean's laughing a little.

"Probably more than you." He scissors his fingers, stretching the rim of Dean’s asshole. It's not like Sam's huge or anything, but he likes to be sure. "Cas? How are you holding up?"

"Good." He sounds less breathy than Dean, but there's something wondering in his tone. "Can you..."

"What?"

"Can we do this flipped over?"

"Sure."

Sam takes his fingers out, and Dean flips over. After he thinks about it for a second, Sam grabs their jackets and folds them, placing them under Dean to raise him to a more comfortable level.

"That good?" he asks. It's Cas who nods.

Sam grabs his cock - which, luckily, is still a little wet - and positions it against Dean's ass. "Take a breath," he says.

Cas inhales, but then it's Dean again as Sam slides in. Only Dean would get that sappy, I-can't-believe-this-is-finally-happening look on his face. But then, Sam's pretty sure he's got his own version on his own face, so he can't judge.

"God," Sam says. It feels amazing. Dean's amazing.

He eases out and in again. It goes a little easier, and Dean's starting to get hard again. Sam rolls his hips a couple times, trying to find the right spot, and it's obvious when he finds it; Dean whimpers, grabs the mattress, and goes so hard his cock's almost flat against his stomach.

"How...what..." It's Cas, looking completely amazed. "What was that?"

"What, this?" Sam repeats the motion. Cas makes a wordless noise, low and surprised.

Yeah. Sam can't wait any longer.

He goes faster and grabs Dean, stroking him in rhythm. He shuts his eyes and stops seeing anything except red behind his eyes as he comes.



The bedroom's been quiet for a good hour when Jimmy stops seeing the flashes of light outside. Good. Maybe he won't walk in on a sweaty dogpile when he walks in.

Except Sam and Dean come out of the room, fully clothed, before Jimmy can walk back.

"What's it look like?" Sam asks.

"I think we've got our window," Jimmy says.

"We should go." Dean's growling a little, so it's probably Castiel. "Do you have everything you need?"

"As long as we go to Bobby's quickly, yeah," Sam says.

Jimmy braces himself. "Okay. Let's do this, Cas."

"We should wait for Bobby's," Dean says. "Or we won't sneak out."

"Oh. Right." It's good. There's no reason he should be Cas's puppet again soon. Even though Cas is going to give him more feedback, he's happier by himself. Definitely.

Sam rests a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "You okay?"

Jimmy swallows the lump in his throat. "Great."

Sam gives him a reassuring smile and takes his hand. Dean takes the other one.

"We might have to bounce a few times," Dean says. "Everyone good with that?"

Sam nods. "Let's go."

The white light glows, and for the first time, Jimmy flies as himself.

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