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Dean's ribs are aching.
He spreads a hand over his chest and presses down hard, feeling solid bone under his palm, and the thump of his heart underneath. It feels like nothing has changed… but Dean remembers the x-ray, and the fancy Enochian carvings running across each rib.
He’s trying to forget about it, but his mind keeps getting stuck on the feeling of Cas's hand, strong and sturdy, and the burn that'd taken his breath away when he'd pressed into him.
A sensation that had been perfectly balanced on the knife-edge of pain and pleasure.
Dean lets out a shaky breath and tugs the scratchy motel sheets closer as he turns over, unable to stop being so aware of it all. A particularly loud snore from the bed next to him tells him that Sam isn't having the same problem.
It only takes another few minutes of Dean gritting his teeth and willing himself to go to sleep before he gives up with an angry sigh.
Cas could have at least asked first before putting heavenly graffiti on his freaking bones.
Dean sneaks past the heavily sleeping Sam, jealous of his ability to get over their new ‘branding’ so quickly. He’s only dressed in an old sleeping shirt and a pair of sweatpants with holes in the knees, but he hopes that just standing outside and getting some air will clear his head. As Dean finally exits the room, he nearly walks straight into Castiel himself. “Jesus, Cas!” Dean yelps. He glances behind him, and adds in a hissed whisper, “What are you doing here?”
For once Cas looks startled and a little guilty. “Hello, Dean,” he says, voice rumbling quietly, “my apologies, I didn't expect anyone to leave the room until the morning.”
Dean closes the door behind him with a soft click and lets out a sigh. “Yeah, that doesn't really answer my question, buddy. You’re kind of loitering.”
Cas shifts his weight a little in a nervous gesture that amuses Dean because it’s so human – something he must have picked up from hanging around with him and Sam for too long. “I've been informed that watching over you while you sleep from your bedside is” - he squints his eyes – “‘creepy’.”
Dean can't help the huff of a laugh that escapes him. “Yeah, 'cause it is.”
Cas frowns. “But it’s frustrating to not be able to sense you.”
As if that should be a reasonable explanation.
“So, what? You thought you’d just hang out here instead?”
“Before, it didn’t matter where I was in Heaven or on Earth, I could tell where you were, or if you were in danger, but now… there’s nothing,” Cas says, with a hint of frustration in his voice and a crease between his eyebrows. “And once you leave… I won’t know where you are until you tell me again.”
“Because of that stuff you put on our ribs?” Dean presses a hand to his chest as echoes of the pleasure-pain burns under his skin.
Cas's eyes flick down at the movement. “Yes.”
Dean snatches his hand back down to his side like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Well, maybe you should have looked at the small print before you went ahead and did it.”
“There was no time, and you know it. I understand that it may have seemed a little invasive-”
“A little?”
“-But you needed to be hidden, and quickly. That was the most effective method. You won’t ever notice the carvings are there, or would you have preferred I marked the sigils onto your skin instead?” Cas huffs lowly.
“If I’m not supposed to be able to tell they’re there, then why can I-”
Why can I still feel your hand? Why can I feel the carvings like they’re burning under my flesh?
“Dean?” Cas says, after a moment of silence.
Dean takes a breath and scrubs a hand through his hair. “It just feels weird.”
“After a while you’ll forget about them,” Cas says with certainty. “The long-term effects will be worth your temporary discomfort.”
“Wow, thanks for your concern.”
“I won’t apologise for keeping you safe,” rumbles out of Cas lowly. Surprise flashes across his face like he hadn’t meant to say that, before he clenches his jaw shut and pinches his lips together.
Dean is more than happy to redirect the conversation away from the weird feelings in his chest. He winks. “Does that mean you worry about me, Cas?”
“Both you and Sam, yes,” Cas corrects, in a stiff tone.
“Oh yeah?” Shit. Dean didn’t expect him to agree. “What happened to the whole ‘I’m a warrior of heaven I won’t perch on your shoulder’ thing?”
There’s a long pause where Dean has the satisfaction of watching Cas’s expression become more flustered at his clear inability to come up with a reply – his eyes narrow, and a redness blooms across his nose. Dean doesn’t ever look too closely into why he finds it so much fun to poke and crack Cas’s mask so much, but he can feel a grin stretch across his lips.
Clearly that’s the final straw for Cas. He takes a step back and scowls. “As you’re not in any danger tonight, I will be leaving,” he grits out.
Dean reaches out on instinct and grabs his arm. “Hey- hey, wait, c’mon man, I was just kidding around. Look, if you’re worried about us and want to check in, that’s what cell phones are for. Or just knock on the door and ask. No need to hang around outside our motel room like a creeper.”
Cas stands and stares at him for a moment, until the blush disappears and his eyebrows tilt down sadly. “But I can no longer sense you,” he repeats more urgently, searching Dean’s face as if he’s looking for something he can’t find.
Dean realises his hand is still gripping Cas’s coat, so he hastily removes it and lets it hang back down by his side. “Oh- uh…” he says eventually. Guilt gnaws at him, but he doesn’t know how to fix this.
The neon sign for the ‘Crows Wings Motel’ shines above them, casting a cold blue light over them both – it settles across Cas’s broad shoulders, catches the tips of his messy hair, and reflects so brightly in his eyes that it looks like they’re almost glowing in the darkness. Maybe they are. He's lit up in a way that reminds Dean of the Angel he really is, and it makes his ribs ache fiercely.
“Well, we know the sigils work at least,” Dean says, trying to distract himself from the strange feeling of guilt. “What do they say anyway?”
Cas pauses to think, before he replies solemnly, “It can be difficult to translate into English from Enochian, but it roughly translates into demanding that you are to be kept away from all of Heaven’s Eyes. It means that no Angelic being has permission to perceive your soul.”
“My soul?”
“Yes.” The corner of Cas’s mouth twists sadly – just a fraction – but Dean catches it. “That’s how I, and the other Angels, have been able to know of your location. But now… the light of your soul is hidden from every Angel in existence. Including me.”
He sounds so utterly broken. And that just doesn’t sit right with Dean. He doesn’t know why. He just knows that’s not right. Cas shouldn’t feel like that because of him. He can fix this.
Dean feels something impulsive jolt through him as he reaches down for Cas's hand and places it on his chest, covering it with his own and pressing on it firmly. Warmth that feels like protection and safety rushes out from where their hands press together.
Cas’s eyes open wide, but he doesn’t resist. His skin is solid, like it’s been cut from marble, so Dean knows that he easily could, but he lets Dean move him around. He always has.
“I give you my permission,” Dean says loudly, into this moment they've created, under the unnatural blue light of the motel sign, and the silent night around them. “Only you.”
Cas lets out a strangled gasp, and Dean feels his hand trembling beneath his own. “You...” He visibly swallows and licks his lips. “You shouldn't say things like that to an Angel, Dean.”
“Yeah? Well, too late. I mean it Cas. You've got my permission. You can perceive my soul, or whatever.”
Cas opens his mouth, probably to protest again, but he freezes. His eyes glow and open even wider. He looks a little overwhelmed as his glowing gaze roams across Dean, over and over like he just can’t get enough of what he sees – like Dean’s one of the natural wonders of the world or something.
The warmth spreading out from their joined hands runs rapidly through his whole body, like hot syrup is coursing through every nerve he has, right down into his fingers and toes. It increases and builds until Dean feels a groan punch out of him that he just about covers with a cough.
Jesus.
The warmth immediately retreats, and Cas’s eyes lose their glow. “Apologies, Dean. I didn’t mean to lose control like that… but seeing your soul come back right in front of me was…” Cas gently pulls his hand away, and he still looks vaguely overwhelmed, but he has happy creases in the corners of his eyes.
Dean has never been more grateful to be wearing baggy pants.
“Thank you,” Cas rumbles. He closes his eyes and sighs deeply and contentedly. “I can see your soul. I can sense you again.”
Dean finally unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Honestly-” his voice comes out a little too deep, so he clears his throat “-I thought maybe you’d have to scribble an extra carving onto the end of your original message or something – ‘this applies to all the angels except Castiel’ – I didn’t think it would work as soon as I said it.” He’s trying desperately not to look too hard at what just happened, but his heart is racing and there’s still a pleasant tingle running through his veins. What the hell was all that? Was it Cas’s grace?
Now that Dean’s temperature has gone down there are goosebumps across his arms from the chill of the night. He scrubs his hands up and down them a few times, and his finger catches on the very edge of the handprint scar, making him flinch. It feels like it’s on fire! But it doesn’t hurt. He can feel it now – the handprint on his shoulder pulses in time with the beat of his heart and the ache in his ribs.
Holy shit.
“You gave me your permission, and you meant it,” Cas explains, “that’s all an Angel needs.”
Dean meets Cas’s gaze, and suddenly nothing matters but being glad to be able to do something that brought him so much happiness and peace. He’s just being a good friend.
“‘Course,” Dean says. “No problem. Don’t mention it. Can’t have my guardian angel not able to sense where the hell I am if I need bailing out of a life-or-death situation, can I?” He meant it to come out flippantly, but his traitorous voice caught on the words ‘my guardian angel’ and now he can’t stop focusing on how much of an effect it’s having on Cas too.
The neon motel sign above them flickers, fizzles, and pops, but Cas doesn’t even look at it, his eyes still locked with Dean’s.
Now that the blue glow from the sign is gone, somehow that otherworldly bubble that they seemed to be in has burst. They’re just two guys outside a motel in the middle of the night.
Eventually, Dean clears his throat and absentmindedly rubs his chest again. “Okay. Well. Good talk.” He reaches out and gives Cas’s arm a friendly pat. “I should- I should go back to bed- lots of big days coming up- world to save- goodnight, Cas.” He turns around and hastily ducks back into the room.
A soft, “Goodnight, Dean,” follows him inside just before the door clicks shut behind him.