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“Dean,” Cas says carefully, slowly. His voice is gruff, low with longing and want. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for… awhile now.”
Dean shifts, his entire body suddenly alert. “Cas, we got you the antidote, the spell’s worn off.”
Cas’s eyes scrape over Dean’s body. “I know.”
2 days earlier
Garth’s the one to give Dean a call about the witch, and the first thing he says is, “Can’t you call someone else in on this? I fuckin’ hate witches, man.”
“Sorry, no-can-do, Dean-o,” Garth says. “You’ve got more experience with witches than most, and this smells pretty weird.”
Dean sighs, gets the details, and thanks Garth sarcastically for the tip before hanging up. Sam’s in his bedroom, sleeping while Zeke heals him from the inside-out, and Dean desperately needs to get away from him for awhile. He can’t take the lying anymore, he just can’t. But he doesn’t want to face a witch alone, if he’s being honest, and Cas has been talking about how he should build up his hunting skills as a human, just in case something happens.
Dean’s been showing him the basics, how to keep his ass from getting kicked too hard in a fight, how to shoot a gun, that kind of thing. Cas is a good student and a quick learner and Dean’s been enjoying the lessons, save for one awkward moment when he’d had to excuse himself from a wrestling match to go take care of a little issue that he’d never tell Cas about — ever.
(Cas’s hands, though. His human hands. They’re rough but his touch can be soft, even when he’s forcing Dean to the ground or flipping him over his back like Dean’s taught him. It’s not Dean’s fault if certain grips, well, get him a little hot and bothered. Just a little. He needs out of the bunker, he needs to go find a girl at a bar, something. He’s got to get his rocks off, basically. That’s all.)
So Dean goes and finds Cas in the kitchen burning a grilled cheese to hell and back, and he gives him some pointers about the stove — “You don’t need to turn the burner up all the way, ‘specially not for something like this” — before telling him to pack a bag, they’ve got a case.
The car ride is long and they switch off driving, though Dean’s nervous about Cas being behind the wheel of Baby. Cas is a quick learner when it comes to the car too, though, and their lessons in Lebanon have paid off. Cas finds that he kind of likes the highway, likes the speed of it, but the speed doesn’t stop him from whining about whether they’re there yet when they’ve barely reached Kentucky. They take turns sleeping, slumped over in the passenger seat, and while Dean carefully angles himself toward the window to rest his head, Cas doesn’t seem to get that memo and more often than not, his head lolls onto Dean’s shoulder.
While Cas drives, Dean checks the news alerts Garth sends him, catching up to speed, and tells Cas what they’re going to be dealing with. “Sounds like witchy stuff for sure. This kid’s heart exploded, burst right out of his chest. Nasty shit. You should see some of these photos, I mean…” He curls his lip in disgust. “Fucking witches, man.”
Wytheville, Virginia’s a town of rolling hills and trees, the type of town that Dean’s rolled through a hundred times. He and Cas find the first cheap, shitty motel on the way into town and drop their stuff, and then Dean declares it’s time for some good old burgers and fries.
There’s a diner across the street from the motel, a family-owned place, and Dean and Cas nab a booth in the back. Dean grabs the local paper from the stand by the front door and by the time their waitress comes to take their order, he and Cas are already debating the best strategy to approach the case.
The waitress is pretty and pleasant, and she takes their orders with patience — even when Cas seems overwhelmed by the size of the menu and asks her question after question about the options. At one point, he explains to her that he’s new to all of this food stuff, and that he appreciates her patience.
After they’ve eaten, they decide to start with the family of the victim, a high school senior named Jason. His parents are distraught and don’t take well to the FBI asking questions; they don’t want to rehash their son’s death, it’s too soon. But his sister’s willing to talk, and she takes them up to Jason’s bedroom, where the death happened.
Splattered across the walls is — well, Jason. His body’s been carried away but there’s plenty of him to go around, which Dean jokes to Cas, though Cas just furrows his eyebrows in confusion. The coroner’s report said that the heart had burst through the chest in what seemed like a spontaneous explosion.
Jason’s sister leaves them alone and Dean starts rifling through Jason’s drawers, looking for clues and turning up just what you’d expect from a high schooler’s bedside table. Condoms, some magazines, used tissues that Dean doesn’t want to even touch with his gloves on.
Cas stands by the dresser and runs a finger through the blood that’s splattered on it, and then licks the finger.
“Aw man, dude, you can’t be doing that,” Dean says, taking Cas’s arm. “C’mon, that’s gross. You’re human now, you could get diseases or something.”
“It takes like normal blood. I’d hoped I could tell something from it,” Cas explains, clearly frustrated with himself for his lack of angelic powers.
“Here, here’s something,” Dean says, pulling out a notebook from the bottom of the drawer. He flips it open to see the same name written over and over: Bella. Bella. Bella. Bella. “Seems like our Jason had a crush.” He waves the notebook for Cas to see, but as he does so, a piece of paper falls out of it. Dean stoops to pick it up: it’s a note. Let’s do today’s tutoring on the bleachers. 3:00. See you there. Leah
It’s not hard to find Leah. It’s a small town and Jason’s parents are happy to provide her address if it’ll get the agents away from their own house. Once they’re in the car, Dean reaches to change gears and feels Cas’s hand brush his, and then pause, and then — Cas places it firmly over Dean’s on the gear shift, stroking Dean’s fingers with his own.
He seems to be entirely unconscious of what he’s doing, which makes it more alarming. Dean looks at him in confusion. “Uh, Cas?”
“Yes, Dean?” Cas smiles over at him pleasantly.
“What are you, uh, doing?” Dean doesn’t move his hand away, maybe because he’s curious, maybe because he wants to see how long this’ll last or what Cas will do next.
“I wanted to hold your hand,” Cas explains, his tone implying that this should be simple, that it should clear everything right up.
In fact, it just muddies things.
“And… why?” Dean asks, his eyes pinned to their hands, to the way Cas’s fingers interlock over Dean’s.
“I… don’t know,” Cas says slowly, as if he’s digging for the reason and failing to turn anything up.
“Okay. Well.” Dean finally pulls his hand away, though as soon as he does, some small part of him wishes he hadn’t. “I’m not uh, I’m not really a hand-holding kinda guy. You gotta buy me dinner first, Cas.” He flashes him a smirk, showing that it’s a joke.
Only, Cas never quite gets it, does he? “I’d be happy to pay for dinner, Dean, but I don’t have any money,” he says.
Dean just lets out a breath. “Okay, man. Let’s just… focus on the case.” And he finally shifts the car into drive and starts down the street.
Leah’s house — well, her parents’ house, since the girl’s seventeen — is tucked into a nice little street off the main road. It looks completely normal, and as Dean and Cas walk up the front sidewalk, Dean’s assessing the place as he always does: looking for any strange symbols or objects in the garden or on the porch, witchy plants, obvious hex bags tucked beneath the stoop. He’s caught off-guard when Cas leans his shoulder against Dean’s and says, “You know, you really are unnaturally beautiful. And I have seen quite a lot of beauty in my day.”
Dean stops just short of the steps, dumbstruck for a moment and unable to summon words. First: what ? Huh? And second, just a beat behind the first thought: does Cas really think that? “You– no, I– you… what?” He fumbles over the words that do come to him, and Cas just smiles pleasantly.
“Even when you’re flustered, which you are right now.” Cas reaches up and touches Dean’s nose, crinkling his eyes affectionately. “I like to see you flustered.”
Dean blinks several times, confused, before saying, “Okay, man, crank down the weird and let’s get focused on the case, yeah?”
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to focus, with you around,” Cas replies, “but I will try to do my best for you, Dean.”
Dean stares for just one more second at Cas’s entirely earnest expression before shaking his head and heading up the steps to knock on the door.
Leah herself opens the door and when they flash their badges, she lets them inside, looking instantly nervous — which is, of course, suspicious.
“We heard that you knew Jason,” Dean says, taking a seat on the couch, Cas sitting down next to him but entirely too close. Is this just normal new human stuff? Is this just Cas trying to figure out personal space all over again?
“I did.” Leah sniffs and reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table. “Jason and I… I was his tutor.” And then she bursts into tears.
The crying goes on for quite awhile, and although Cas isn’t really the best fighter to comfort the girl, Dean realizes they’re not going to get anywhere like this. He excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and as he’s heading up the stairs, he hears Cas say, “Do you see his green eyes? They’re mesmerizing, right?”
Leah’s room isn’t hard to find; it’s decorated with pink wallpaper and posters of boy bands. He’d dismiss himself, say this is nothing, the girl’s not acting suspicious, she’s just in mourning — but he catches sight of a book poking out from beneath her bed.
“Please don’t be a grimoire, please don’t be a grimoire,” he mutters to himself as he kneels down and picks up the grimoire. It’s leather-bound and heavy and, well, at least they’ll get this thing solved quick and head back home, right?
One of the pages is marked with a bright orange tab, the type Sam used to use in school to mark important pages in his textbooks, and Dean rolls his eyes. He opens to the page and sure enough, there it is: a fucking love spell.
He snaps the book closed and marches downstairs with it in his hands. Cas is holding a tissue out to Leah, who’s still crying, and when Dean appears Cas turns to look at him with an expression of such pure devotion that — well, Dean’s not an idiot, and this ain’t his first rodeo.
He sighs and holds the book out to Leah, eyebrows raised, not saying anything. She’s already crying, but just seeing it makes her sob even harder. “Please, please don’t arrest me, I didn’t know what would happen, I thought it would work!” She grabs the tissue from Cas and blows her nose loudly into it.
“What is this, Dean?” Cas asks, taking the book from his hands — and, Dean swears, intentionally brushing his hand against Dean’s as he does so. A little jolt runs through Dean at the touch and he faces Leah, pissed and not feeling particularly sorry for her.
“You wanna tell him, Leah?” he asks.
Cas is already flipping through the pages, frowning, and when Leah doesn’t say anything, just continues to sob, he says, “These are some very powerful and difficult spells.” His eyes flick up to Leah. “Who trained you to be a witch?”
Leah shakes her head, taking in gasping gulps of air. “I — no one, I just — I found the book in this old abandoned house and I—”
“So you’re a self-taught teenage witch?” Dean demands, and there’s a joke in here about Sabrina and maybe a black cat, only he can’t quite grasp it right now, because he’s starting to understand that Cas is under a fucking love spell of some sort, one that was cast by a teenager and has wound up directed at Dean.
“I didn’t… I didn’t even think it would work, I just figured it was worth a shot!” Leah blows her nose again. “Are you going to arrest me?”
Dean flexes his fingers, forming a fist, but he says, “No, I’m not… I just need to get to the bottom of this.”
“Dean,” Cas says, nudging him with the book. “That really turns me on, when you’re taking charge.”
Dean’s breath catches in his throat and he can’t even look at Cas. “Okay, listen,” he says to Leah, taking a step toward her. “This is serious shit. You’re gonna tell me what you did, and you’re gonna tell me now .”
Leah’s story unfolds slowly and with lots of hiccups, more tissues, and her fair share of begging for mercy. She explains to Dean that she’s had a crush on Jason for a long time, but that he’s never noticed her like that , and that she wanted him to love her back, because she knew that if he could just take the time to get to know her, he’d understand that they’re meant to be. She’s his tutor for math, she tells them, but if they could just talk about something other than math for a second, he’d get that they actually have a lot in common.
So when she found this spell book, she figured it was worth a shot. When Dean demands to know where she got the materials, she says that you can find anything you want on the internet, and that her dad never checks his credit card bills that closely.
The spell, it turns out, required a drink. A potion, which she’d mixed up in a pot on her parents’ stove. She’d poured out one of her parents’ bottles of whiskey and filled it with the mixture. Then, she’d sent Jason a note to meet outside the school, and he’d been more than happy to take a shot of whiskey before they started their session.
Only, once he’d taken a drink, he hadn’t looked at her any different. Nothing had changed at all, and she’d figured it must not have worked. She started talking him through the Calculus homework, but after about ten minutes, he’d suddenly gotten up and said he had somewhere to be.
The next day, he was declaring his love for one of the lacrosse players, Bella, in front of the whole school. Bella was mortified and had turned him down, and that afternoon, well, Jason was dead.
“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Leah says. “I did everything the book told me, I swear.”
“Well, a lot of witchy shit has some fine print,” Dean says, shoving Cas’s arm away from him as it snakes its way around his shoulders.
Leah’s used all of the ingredients and has no idea how to reverse the spell. Basically, she turns out to be useless. Dean decides to try a different tactic and asks for the address of the place she got the book. Once he’s got it, Dean stalks out of her house, taking the book with him and giving her a firm warning that if she ever tries any spells or anything ever again, he’s going to find her. “In fact,” he adds as Cas’s hand touches his ass on the front walk, “if you even so much as think about doing witchcraft, I’m gonna know about it. I’ve got a sixth sense.”
“Stay in school,” Cas offers her before he and Dean load back into the Impala.
In the car, Dean looks over at Cas, ready to lecture him about keeping his hands to himself, to say that this is just a spell and that he’s got to fight it, but Cas looks back at him, his eyes focused on Dean’s, wide and full of — well, Dean could be fooled into believing it’s real love, if he’s not careful.
So instead of a lecture, he says, “The thing I don’t get is why’d Jason go kaboom? I don’t think that’s part of the usual spells. Isn’t there supposed to be a happily ever after thing there?”
“Well,” Cas says thoughtfully, “it’s possible that the potion was created incorrectly. Perhaps it was overly potent and poisoned his heart slowly over the course of twenty-four hours. Or perhaps it was the rejection from the object of his affection that killed him; the love not being returned.”
Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. Either way, it’s not looking good for Cas, and he doesn’t want to freak him out, but well — he blurts it out anyway: “So if we don’t find an antidote to this thing, you’re gonna die.”
He doesn’t have to look away from the road to see Cas’s confusion. “What do you mean?” he asks.
For a celestial-being-turned-human, Cas really can be pretty damn thick sometimes. Does he not think it’s weird that he’s suddenly, you know, in love with Dean? Of all people?
“I mean that when you slurped up some of Jason’s blood, you got the potion in you, and now you’re acting like—” He sputters out before he can finish the sentence, doesn’t want to actually put it into words. You’re acting like you’re in love with me.
“Ah,” Cas says slowly, the realization dawning as he draws out the syllable. “I see. I’m under the girl’s spell as well.”
“Sure seems like it, unless you’ve always had a thing for ass,” Dean says, still unable to look at Cas like he normally would, just a quick glance over to see if his joke’s landed.
“Well—” Cas starts, but Dean cuts him off.
“Let’s — let’s not say anything we don’t mean, yeah?” Has the collar of this shirt always been so damn tight?
“Whatever you want, Dean,” Cas says, and they ride in silence to the address Leah’s provided.
The abandoned house is pretty much what Dean expected. It’s witchy, for sure, tucked away into the woods that surround the town, with broken porch steps and that musty, moldy smell that Dean’s grown used to encountering in, well, just about every old building he sets foot in.
“Okay, Cas, you go in and take a look around,” Dean says, pausing on the porch to pull out his phone. “I’m gonna give Garth a ring and see if he knows any simple reversals.”
Cas ducks inside and Dean can hear the sound of him rummaging about. Truthfully, Dean just wanted a moment alone, some distance from the guy; it’s a weird feeling, to have Cas under this spell and acting so forthright, so bold. And maybe the worst part — it’s not entirely unwelcome, for Dean. He’s not turned off or disgusted by Cas’s interest and affections; instead, it feels like he’s letting out a long-held breath, and he’s not quite sure what to do with that feeling.
Garth answers on the second ring. “Dean, how’s it going?”
“Ah, not great, Garth,” Dean growls. “Told you I hated witches. This isn’t even a real witch, it’s just a lovesick teenager.”
“Hmm, that complicates it. Can’t kill her.”
“I gave her a firm warning.” Dean rolls his eyes and leans up against the clapboard siding. “We got an issue though.”
“Let me guess — her spell got cast on one of you. Or both? Oh, that’d be fun.” There’s some genuine joy in Garth’s voice that Dean does not appreciate.
“No. Just Cas.” Dean’s eyes scan the tree line as he speaks. “It was a potion. Got into the vic’s bloodstream, Cas… well, now it’s in Cas’s. And his heart’s gonna go atomic in less than 24 hours if we don’t figure out some reversal. Only, the book this girl got her hands on, it doesn’t have a reversal spell or anything like that.”
“I see. So you need an antidote for Castiel.” Garth’s clearly moving around, probably going to check the books. And good, that’s what Dean needs. He needs for Garth to find a way to end this, quick.
“Yeah, it’d be fucking nice, if you have a spare minute,” Dean says sarcastically.
“So how’s he… acting?” Garth asks, his curiosity clear and dripping through his tone.
“Call me if you find anything,” Dean grouses and hangs up the phone.
Inside, he doesn’t find Cas anywhere on the first floor, so he climbs the rickety staircase and hears movement from one of the rooms. He rounds the doorway and there’s Cas, sitting on a dust-covered bed, paging through another book. He looks up at Dean. “There’s nothing in here, my love,” he says, the final two words rolling off his tongue easily and naturally, as if he’s said just this thing a thousand times. As if he calls Dean this all the time, combines the word ‘love’ with Dean’s visage.
Dean ignores his leaping heart and goes to sit next to Cas, taking the book from him. “That’s just great.” He flips through the pages and wishes Sam were here so he could do the research shit — only then, when Cas’s hand finds Dean’s thigh, Dean reverses that thought: it’s a good fucking thing Sam isn’t here.
But he doesn’t say anything, just lets Cas touch him, reading through a variety of spells and recipes for potions, taking his time as Cas’s thumb rubs circles into his thigh. He can feel Cas’s eyes on him, the proximity vibrating through his entire body, and as Cas’s hand roams upward toward Dean’s crotch, he feels pleasure start to pool in a way that might, in short time, become… a bit of an issue.
Why does this keep happening? Why won’t his dick behave?
“Cas,” he says softly as Cas’s hand brushes the crotch of his jeans and his cock twitches toward the touch.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas says, his eyes still on Dean, Dean’s gaze still fixed on the book, but he doesn’t move his hand, just allows it to rest there, human, soft, safe .
Dean’s phone vibrating in his pocket shocks them both out of the moment and Dean answers with a, “Hope you’ve got something for me, Garth.”
“Yep, you mentioned it was a potion,” Garth said, “and I’ve got something. Blood of a victim of love’s sick pangs, mixed with a lock of hair of the beloved, rose petals, and lavender. Mix it up, drink, and voila. Your angel should be good to go.”
“He’s not an angel,” Dean corrects, his eyes finding Cas’s. Cas’s tongue pokes through his lips just a bit, just to wet them, and Dean shivers.
“Right. Well, let me know if it works! If not, can I get a plus-one to the wedding?”
“Thanks, Garth.” Dean hangs up.
The ingredients are easy to come by. Dean heads to the lab and asks for a sample of Jason’s blood, and with a badge and a pretty face, it’s amazing what you can get people to give you. Cas goes to an apothecary in town and picks up lavender and rose petals, plus a mortar and pestle.
When Dean walks through the motel room door, a baggy with the vial of blood clutched in his hand, he stops short. There’s Cas, his button-up opened to show his chest, sitting on the edge of the bed. Strewn across it behind him, in the shape of the heart, are the rose petals he’d been tasked with picking up.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, and there’s more desire and want in his voice than Dean’s heard before.
The whole image would be a bit ridiculous if it weren’t for Cas’s earnestness, if it weren’t for the true sincerity that he’s watching Dean with. He looks slightly nervous.
“Cas, we were gonna use those petals for a spell,” Dean says, closing and locking the door behind him. He sets down the blood on the table.
“But we have time before my heart will explode,” Cas replies. “And I can see the way you’ve wanted me all day.”
Dean stops, frozen. He hasn’t wanted Cas all day — he’s just, you know, human. And he hasn’t gotten laid in awhile! That explains all of it. He stands just past the threshold of the room and shakes his head, holds his hands up in surrender. “You got the wrong idea, man. It’s just, you know, one of those human things, when somebody’s… well, you know, feeling you up.”
Cas frowns, his gaze shifting from eager to confused. “But Dean, you’ve always—”
“No,” Dean cuts across him before he can say anything. “No, Cas, you’re under a spell. Sabrina’s got you thinking and seeing things that you wouldn’t normally, it’s fucked up, but we’re gonna fix it. We got what we need.”
Cas’s expression shifts again: confusion to disappointment. “But Dean,” he tries again.
Dean doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but something in his frantic chest tells him not to let Cas speak, not to wait and find out whatever it is. What’s Cas seen? What’s he heard, what’s he felt? What, of any of this, could possibly be real? “Look. I get it, you’re new at being human, you think you’re putting things together, you think this is all real. It’s not. It’s just witchy bullshit. You and I, there’s nothing there. There’s never been anything, never will be anything. We’re friends, Cas, that’s it.”
Another shift on Cas’s face — he goes from disappointment, a slight frown, to true devastation. Dean hasn’t seen him like this before; Cas is always so steadfast, he doesn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve or anywhere else, for that matter. He’s… he’s Cas. He’s steady. He’s a rock.
But now, he bursts into tears, and Dean’s so genuinely shocked by it that he just stands there as Cas’s body crumples forward, as he takes his head in his hands and falls onto his knees on the floor. “Dean—” Cas chokes out past his sobs, and he looks up with that same devastation, but also — is that fear?
“Cas, you’re okay, man, it’s okay, none of it’s real,” Dean says, out of his element completely now.
“No, Dean, there’s something — wrong—” Cas’s hand clutches at his heart and he straightens just enough to look at Dean with what is now full-fledged panic. “My chest—”
The gears click into place and Dean curses. “ Fuck. ” He moves quickly then, grabbing the vial of blood and tearing open the bag that holds it with his teeth while grabbing the rose petals in fistfuls off the bed. “Cas, where’s the other stuff?” he demands as Cas falls sideways onto the floor, gasping for air, both of his hands on his chest now.
“Over— there—” Cas looks toward the other bed where there’s a neat little paper bag. Dean rips it open and grabs the mortar and the lavender. It’s a sprig of lavender, and he shucks the little flowers from the stem by wrapping it in his palm and running his fist along its length. They fall into the mortar and he drops the petals in as well, then opens the vial of blood and lets it spill onto the flowers.
“Dean, I— I’m sorry—” Cas grunts from the other side of the bed.
“Cas, hang in there, you’re not dying on me,” Dean says, insists , as he reaches up and pulls a few hairs from his head, the pain pulling him even deeper into the moment, the panic of it.
He drops his hair into the mortar and takes the pestle to grind the ingredients together, sloppy and urgent, hoping that it works. The blood soaks the rest and after just a few twists of the pestle, Dean brings the bowl to Cas. “Here, drink,” he says, squatting down next to him, pulling Cas up into his lap so that he’s propped up enough to drink. He puts the bowl to his lips.
Cas does drink, and Dean can see where his heart pumps against his uncovered chest. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Cas collapses against Dean, his eyelids fluttering closed, and Dean wraps his arms around Cas, holding tight as if that can stop death from finding him, and he waits for a long moment, one that lasts far longer than is natural. “You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay,” he practically begs, rocking Cas back and forth, leaning down to press a kiss to Cas’s forehead.
Finally, he sees Cas’s pulse slow and his breathing returns to normal. Dean relaxes back against the side of the bed, Cas’s head still in his lap, one of his hands in Cas’s hair while the other cups his shoulder.
Dean lets out a long breath and they’re both quiet for a moment.
Then, Cas’s eyes open. “So that’s what it feels like,” he says into the silence.
“What?”
“Dying. It’s very unpleasant.” Cas’s brow furrows as he looks up at Dean.
Dean coughs out a laugh. “Yeah, it’s uh, it’s definitely not something you’d sign up for. Unless you’re… me, I guess.”
Cas sits up slowly and turns to face Dean, his hair standing up every which way thanks to Dean’s hands, his cheeks flushed with renewed life. “We’re lucky that worked.”
“Yeah well, I get lucky a lot,” Dean says, feeling the sudden absence of Cas’s body against his lap.
“And when you don’t?”
“Then I hope an angel comes down and rescues me.” Dean finds his gaze lingering on Cas’s lips. They’re full, cracked, beautiful — and he’d think maybe he’d somehow ingested the potion himself, only he can’t lie to himself, he knows he’s had these thoughts before, many fucking times.
Cas returns his gaze. The intensity of it is no less than when the potion had been coursing through his veins. “Dean,” he says carefully, slowly. His voice is gruff, low with longing and want. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for… awhile now.”
Dean shifts, his entire body suddenly alert. “Cas, we got you the antidote, the spell’s worn off.”
Cas’s eyes scrape over Dean’s body. “I know.”
Dean can’t ignore the desire in his own body that mimics that in Cas’s, and maybe it’s the long drive, the long day, the fear of losing Cas, these touches that have lingered somehow on his body even after Cas’s hands drew away, but he surges forward, closing the distance between them and kissing him, right there on the motel room floor. His hand comes up to cup Cas’s cheek, to feel his stubble, and Cas is returning the kiss, eager, human, his tongue probing at Dean’s lips until Dean opens them to allow the kiss to deepen.
Cas’s hands find Dean’s back, and it’s as if the kiss has snapped something in both of them, because Dean’s then pulling away and shucking off his shirt, popping some of the buttons off as he does so, Cas is doing the same with his own. Once they’re rid of their shirts, they surge back together, Cas’s hand running up Dean’s arm and Dean’s hand finding Cas’s hair and gripping tight, their hips grinding against one another.
There’s nothing magical, no spell, nothing witchy about the way their bodies meet. As Dean pulls Cas’s belt off, as he undoes Cas’s pants, as Cas does the same with Dean’s, a bit clumsily, his human body surging with acute desire for perhaps the first time, he knows that there’s nothing special to this. There’s no angel mojo, no Heavenly or Hellish mandate for their bodies this time. It’s just the two of them: meeting in the middle.
They stand together, bodies wrapped around one another, and Dean falls backward onto the bed, pulling Cas down on top of him. Cas hums his approval of the position and as he plants kisses down Dean’s chest he mutters into his skin, “Been wanting you all day.”
And Dean knows it’s true, his cock rises for Cas as he makes his way down to it, his arms coming to wrench Dean’s legs further apart, to spread him wider.
The mortar lays on the ground, its bowl containing the remnants of the antidote, the proof that the potion has disappeared from Cas’s veins; all that runs through them now is pure desire, Cas’s own, for Dean.
“Wanted you since Hell,” Cas murmurs against Dean’s cock as he takes it in his mouth, and then any more words he might utter are drowned, muffled, and Dean grips at Cas’s hair, guiding his head back and forth, though Cas doesn’t seem to need instruction on any of this. The human instinct has taken over, his desire for Dean — and it can’t truly have been since Hell, it must be an exaggeration, and yet as Dean tilts his head down to look at the top of Cas’s, he sees the red mark on his own shoulder, the handprint as clear as it was the day Cas first laid a hand on him.
And maybe it’s true. Dean arches up into Cas, and Cas pulls away just enough to slide his fingers into his mouth, to wet them before he finds Dean’s hole, before he begins to stretch him.
Dean’s never had this, each sensation brand new, and it’s like the two of them are here, fresh humans, fresh at love or desire or whatever mix this is, whatever the little witch had accidentally freed in them. The adrenaline of Cas’s near-death pumps through both of them and as Cas finally enters Dean, Dean swallows a shout, Cas’s name on his lips mixed with every filthy curse he can think of, only he doesn’t feel dirty at all, he feels in fact like he’s being cleansed. Cleansed by his angel-turned-human, cleansed by his Cas.
After, Dean rests his head on Cas’s chest and listens to his heart beating steadily. He runs a finger across Cas’s stomach. “I just don’t understand,” he says quietly. “Why did the spell make this Jason kid fall for Bella and not Leah?”
Cas hums, continues to play idly with Dean’s hair. “Well, Dean,” he says, his voice even gruffer than usual, “it’s not really a love spell, as far as I can tell. It doesn’t pluck love out of thin air. Instead, it finds the love that already exists and amplifies it, makes it so that you can’t keep it to yourself, you have to act on the feeling.”
Dean allows his eyelids to droop shut, exhaustion taking over his body even as Cas’s admission, what he’s just said and the weight of it, sinks into him. Maybe he’s not ready to hear it, maybe he’s not ready to really understand. But as Cas breathes, steadily and deeply, beneath him, he knows that he’ll always be there. A rock; ready whenever Dean is, waiting with his heart unguarded.