Archive of Our Own

~~~Present Day~~~

Sam doesn’t even really notice for the first day that Cas and Dean are missing. They’re in a lull between cases and are all taking a well deserved break. He figures the couple is holed up in Dean’s room doing things he’d rather not think about. They’re being surprisingly quiet in there, but maybe that means they’ve finally learned to respect the fact that they live in a shared space. If anything, this is a positive development. It’s considerably better than their usual style of banging headboards and overly dramatic begging for ‘more’, ‘harder’, and ‘fuck yeah, angel’. Sam has an ongoing suspicion that he’ll never confirm (as he really, really, doesn’t want to know), that Cas uses his grace in some unsavory ways to allow them to keep up the twelve hour sex-binges. He’s not sure how they’re managing it otherwise. He’s been tempted to leave food outside the door before, if only so Dean doesn’t die of starvation when his angel boyfriend forgets he’s human.

Needless to say, he gives Dean’s room a wide berth and goes about his day.

On the second day, he knocks on Dean's door with some toast and a glass of water in his hand. He doesn’t want to be the one who has to tell all their friends that he let Dean get banged to death while he was just down the hall. When there’s no answer, he slowly pushes it open (eyes closed, he learned that lesson the hard way), but it’s empty. He shrugs. Better than the time he’d woken to a loud bang, and had burst into Dean’s room to find that they’d somehow knocked over the entire dresser. The 1950’s, solid wood, military issue dresser, fully loaded with clothes. Dean, not even bothering to try and cover up with any of the clothes strewn across the floor, had made a joke about angel strength and unceremoniously thrown Sam out so they could get back to whatever it was they’d been doing. This time, however, Dean’s room looks untouched.

He still isn’t too worried. There had been that time that Cas had flown the two of them to Paris for a weekend and forgotten to tell him. They’d shown back up on Monday, Dean still tipsy from all the wine and walking decidedly funny. Cas hadn’t even apologized, just shrugged and declared that Dean deserved nice things. Sam didn’t disagree, so he’d let it slide.

On the third day, he finds Dean’s cell phone on the kitchen counter while he’s cleaning up from breakfast. It’s unusual that Dean would leave without it. He unlocks it and selects “Castiel”. He walks to the library while it rings, and hears Cas’s phone vibrating on a bookshelf. For the first time, he starts to worry. Though their whirlwind romance has made them both more than a bit stupid, Dean is still a hunter and Cas is still an angel. It’s unlike them to leave behind both their phones without so much as a note.

It’s probably nothing. All the same, he does a quick round of calls to all their friends. Nobody has heard from either of them. As he’s going through his address book, he checks the garage. Baby is parked in her spot. He feels another twinge of concern. Cas’s wings were restored when Jack rescued him from the Empty, but unless there’s an ocean in the way, Dean still prefers to drive. Now that Chuck is dead, things have calmed down considerably and they can afford to enjoy the simple luxuries like slow-paced road trips. Maybe that’s where they’ve gone? But no, there’s no reason they wouldn't have let him know what they were up to.

On the fourth day, Sam starts to feel real fear. There are still monsters out there, and though both heaven and hell have no-contact rules, the occasional errant demon does slip through the cracks. Both Cas and Dean have impressive lists of enemies; it’s not inconceivable that something snagged them. The sickeningly familiar sensation of ‘Dean is in trouble’ catches in his stomach. He doesn’t care if he’s about to crash some romantic getaway, he needs to know where they are.

Without Dean around to judge, Sam rifles through his stash of high-level witchcraft left to him by Rowena. Sure enough, it takes him less than an hour to find a spell that will allow him to locate Dean using their shared blood. Another half-hour to gather the ingredients, one slash to his own palm, and he’s left staring at a map of the USA with a bloody circle right around their own location. He switches to a more detailed map of Kansas and repeats the spell, only for it to tell him that Dean is somewhere in the bunker.

With a sigh, climbs to the attic to do a top to bottom search. They’re not upstairs, nor in any of the bedrooms. He meticulously checks each storage closet and cupboard. Nothing.

He finally reaches the dungeon. He’s beginning to lose hope that they’re actually here. Maybe his witchcraft isn’t as good as he thinks. Maybe the spell was a dud.

He rounds the corner and jumps. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this. There’s a large circle of runes, resembling a devil’s trap, but with some Enochian variations, spray painted onto the floor. Two wisps of silver are ricocheting around, bouncing off the edges of the circle. Sam pulls his gun on reflex and slowly approaches the circle. Although he is intellectually aware that bullets are almost certainly useless against whatever spirits have managed to trap themselves in the dungeon, the weight of the pistol is comforting in his hands.

Whatever they are, they do seem trapped, so he relaxes slightly and begins to pace the circle. He doesn’t believe in coincidences. He works under the assumption that this is related to the disappearances of Cas and Dean.

He’s so focused on the spirits in the circle that he nearly trips over Dean’s naked body.

“Jesus! Dean? Are you ok?” Sam drops to his knees and shakes Dean. It’s another moment before he notices Cas, equally nude, sprawled across the bottom half of Dean. Their clothes are strewn haphazardly around the circle.

Averting his eyes from the sensitive bits, he looks from the bodies to the spirits. Back to the bodies. Back to the spirits. The silver blurs slow down and come to hover at the edge of the circle closest to Sam. He rises and slowly walks closer. Does that one have…blue eyes? And the other, yes, those are definitely green eyes. And is it blushing? Can spirits even blush? That one certainly seems to be.

It hits him all at once. He’s never wanted to punch an incorporeal being so badly in his life, and they’ve met some awful ones. He thinks about kicking Dean’s unconscious body, but that wouldn’t be a fair fight. He rubs his hand across his face and closes his eyes, just for a moment, to center himself.

“Oh no, it was a sex thing again, wasn’t it?”

~~~Four days earlier~~~

“Dean, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Dean looks up from the runes he’s spray painting onto the dungeon floor. He checks briefly with the sketch Cas had made him before continuing. Cas is standing just outside the circle. He’s wearing a pair of Dean’s jeans and one of Dean’s old band t-shirts. It makes him look more human than the old trench-coat getup. They do still keep the full holy-tax accountant outfit in the closet and occasionally get it out, as Dean has discovered that being slammed against a wall by an Angel of the Lord really does it for him.

“Buddy, it was your idea. I’m just here for the ride,” he says with a wink.

And ain’t that the truth. Ever since Jack had pulled Cas out of the Empty and deposited him in the bunker about six months back, Dean has been holding on tight to this ride hoping not to fall off. God was dead and Dean wasn’t wasting any more time. He’d said “I love you too, you idiot”, kissed him, and drug him to his room before Sam could even say hello.

Dean had always assumed that Cas would be shy in bed, rocking the whole forty million year old virgin vibe. He’d thought it would be soft, gentle, a bit awkward, as Dean would show him the ropes. He’d fantasized about it more than he’d like to admit over the years.

He’d been completely wrong. Cas is, in fact, a complete freak. Turns out twelve years of sexual tension combined with a complete lack of inhibitions or societally induced hang-ups add up to very frequent, very creative sex. There have been a few casualties, including the bunker’s mainframe (blown out by Cas’s grace), the dresser (Dean still goes dreamy remembering that one), the washing machine (he did his best to hammer out the imprints of Cas’s fingers, but there’s only so much he could do), and Sam’s sanity. All acceptable losses, in Dean’s opinion.

“Should we warn Sam? So if it goes wrong he’ll know where to find us?” Cas asks, his brow furrowing in that adorable little way it does. Dean wants to kiss him.

“Are you asking if I’m willing to tell Sam we’re using dangerous Enochian magic to let me see your grace and my soul during sex? Nah, either it’ll work out fine or he’ll notice we’re gone eventually and track us down. Kid’s resourceful like that.”

Cas appears to mull it over, then shrugs and nods. Dean shakes his head and grins. He loves this absolutely unhinged angel so much.

Cas loves him back, and isn’t that really something. He loves him so much, in fact, that he’s insisting that they perform a spell that will allow Dean to access his soul and Cas’s grace so they can connect on a level playing field for the first time. Cas is always going on about how ‘your soul is so beautiful, Dean’, and ‘it calls to my grace, Dean’, and ‘I wish you could see what I see, Dean’. Even during their most passionate, clothes ripping off, furniture moving sex, Cas always has a comment about Dean’s soul. It’s both endearing and infuriating, as Dean can’t see or feel any of it. Once, late at night, Dean had whispered this insecurity to Cas. Told him how he worries that he can’t connect with him on the same level, and might he be better off with an angel who could? Cas had wrapped him in his arms, kissed him silly, and decided then and there that they’d find a way for Dean to feel, at least once, what it’s like when Cas’s grace intertwines with Dean’s soul.

Dean puts the finishing touches on the warding and gestures for Cas to check his work. Cas walks the edge of the circle, examining each rune. He nods his approval, and, without any more notice than that, takes Dean’s face in his hands and kisses him deeply.

Dean melts into it, as always. Six months and countless kisses, yet it still feels brand new. Like he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to do this, but is going to give his all while he has it. Cas’s hands are on Dean’s hips, pulling him forward into the circle. He rocks his hips forward and presses into Dean. Dean responds by sliding his hands up into Cas’s shirt to feel the muscles of his back moving as he slides his leg between Dean’s.

“How’s this gonna work?” Dean asks. He doesn’t really fancy getting fucked on the concrete floor, but is also self aware enough to know he won’t say no if Cas asks.

“I forget how fragile you are,” Cas says affectionately. “I’ll lay down, you can get on top, and I’ll heal your knees as we go.”

Good enough for Dean. Without further preamble, Cas stips. Cas is utterly shameless about his own body. It’s sexy as hell. Dean lets himself be undressed. He likes the way Cas’s hands feel as they lift his shirt over his head, how nimble his fingers are on the zipper of his jeans, and how he drops to his knees to pull down Dean’s boxers. Dean’s hard by the time they’re both naked. He gasps as Cas takes his cock into his mouth and sucks a languid stroke. Dean twists a hand into Cas’s hair and resists pumping into his mouth (though they learned early on that angels don’t have gag reflexes, it still seems rude).

“Cas, if you want me to last for the big show you’re gonna have to lay off,” Dean’s voice is breathy even to his own ears. He’s past caring, Cas has seen him come unraveled enough times now that any pretense has long since been dropped.

Cas huffs a laugh and maneuvers them into position. He takes Dean’s hand and pulls him down as he lays down on the floor.

“That gonna be ok on your back?” Dean asks. Jokes aside, the dungeon wasn’t actually designed for sex.

Cas cocks an eyebrow and meets Dean’s gaze. “I’m an angel, Dean. You’ve seen me take bullets.” And, fair.

Dean takes him at his word and leans down to kiss him again. Cas’s body is warm and sturdy under him. Dean puts his full weight on him, not bothering to brace himself. Being with someone as strong as Cas is intoxicating; it sends a shiver down his spine ending in a spark of arousal in his belly. He deepens the kiss. He slides his tongue into Cas’s mouth and is rewarded with a rumbly moan from Cas. He can’t get over how well they fit together. He’s not sure he ever will.

It’s a few glorious minutes of hands and mouths. Hips rolling in time. Cas works Dean open so slowly that he barely feels the burn, and when he does, Cas soothes it over with his grace. Soon, when Dean thinks he’ll die if he has to wait another moment, he lifts himself up and sinks onto Cas’s cock. Cas rests his hands on his hips, but doesn’t rush him. Cas’s eyes close and he tilts his head back, his mouth falling open in ecstasy. Dean takes in the sight of him, laid out underneath him. His stomach is taut and he arches up into Dean ever so slightly. Dean traces a finger along his Enochian tattoo as he bottoms out.

They take a breath in sync. This moment, when they pause together in complete connection, is when Cas will usually say something completely sappy about Dean’s soul. This time, he drags Dean down for a kiss, then pulls away, only slightly, and whispers something in Enochian. Dean can feel his lips moving against his own as he does it. The runes flare blue, and Dean’s breath catches.

He sees Cas’s grace, bright white and pure, snaking towards him in filaments of light. It twines around his body and reaches into his chest. It envelops him with a heat that’s both comforting and intense all at once.

“Dean,” Cas calls to him. In response, there’s a flare of light from inside his own chest. Dean gasps in shock as his soul expands and welcomes Cas’s grace like an old friend. He almost loses the physical sensation of his own grinding and pumping against Cas, who’s hips rise rhythmically to meet him.

It’s transcendent. Dean could die happy like this, Cas inside of him and around him and everywhere all at once.

Dean has no idea whether he lasts a minute or an hour, but eventually the pleasure builds and crests. He comes, a burst of intensity that resonates through his very soul. Cas’s grace shivers with it, and he feels Cas tense and empty inside him.

Dean collapses onto Cas’s chest and Cas wraps his arms around him contentedly. Dean sighs and enjoys the post-orgasm glow as he slowly comes down from the high. His soul pulses in time with Cas’s heartbeat.

It’s quite possibly the best sex he’s ever had. It immediately goes pear shaped as soon as he tries to roll off Cas to go clean up.

The moment he tries to pull Cas out, Cas’s grace growls. It’s a primal and terrifying sound, perhaps not even a sound. The shattering pitch of an angel’s true voice, just short of painful. It rattles into his soul, which whines and tries to pull Cas’s grace closer.

“Cas?” Dean hesitates.

Cas frowns. “I’ve never seen anything like this. My grace is trying to hold onto your soul. It usually lets go after we’re finished.”

Dean again attempts to disconnect from Cas. This time, he feels his own soul protest wildly.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Dean says, mostly to his soul and Cas’s grace.

“Perhaps we need to forcibly break the connection,” Cas speculates. “I’ll give you a push, try to break contact with me and get over the line.”

This sounds as good a plan as any. Cas braces his hands on Dean’s chest, and on the count of three he gives a firm shove while Dean throws himself towards the edge of the circle.

There’s a blinding flare of light, accompanied by the deafening scream of both his soul and Cas’s grace as they cling together desperately. The second that Dean loses physical contact with Cas, his soul screams. He sees Cas’s mouth move as it shouts his name, but he can’t hear over the piercing keen of loss his soul is emitting. He abstractly feels Cas follow him out of the circle and collapse over his legs.

His last thought before he loses consciousness is that his soul is a fucking drama queen.

~~~~Present Day~~~~

The more Sam looks at the scene, the worse it gets.

When he rolls Cas off Dean to make sure they’re still alive, he notices that Cas’s chest is covered in dried come, which is just so gross. Before making any further decisions, he goes back upstairs to get two sheets and does his best to cover them both up. As he does so, he notices that Dean has a line of hickey’s down his neck, and Cas has red marks in the shape of finger prints along his hips. He deserves a god damn Nobel Peace Prize for not murdering them in their sleep. No jury would convict him, especially since Cas doesn’t technically exist and Dean has been declared dead on multiple occasions.

Then there’s the balls of light in the circle. Every once in a while, he can make out flashes of blue and green eyes. They never stray far from each other, and he gets the distinct impression that they’re cuddling. At least he hopes it's just cuddling. It’s cuddling, right? He’s right here next to their unconscious bodies, they wouldn’t dare? Right?

“No funny business in there, you two. Don’t make me pull a gun on you while you can’t defend yourselves,” he says, just in case.

Putting aside the gradually growing anger he’s feeling, Sam falls on old habits. He checks their pulses and respiration. All normal. He gives Dean a slap (he tells himself it's to try and wake him), but he doesn’t even budge. At that, the green eyed spirit does an offended lap around the circle followed by a few half-hearted bumps against the edge of its confinement, which makes him feel somewhat better.

After further consideration, he realizes that waking Dean in his current state might be a bad idea. He’s seen enough human souls to recognize what’s now snuggling the blue-eyed ball in a far too intimate way. He doesn’t fancy having a soulless Dean loose in the bunker. No, he needs to figure out what half-assed spell these two idiots worked and reverse it.

After ensuring that both bodies are safe (and covered up to their chins with the sheet), he snaps some pictures of the rune circle and trudges up to the library.

+++++

It takes him four hours and two cups of coffee to find the spell, then another two hours and a third cup to translate the Enochian. He’s utterly exhausted and considers leaving those two assholes down there until morning. His conscience gets the better of him and he considers how he’d feel if Dean or Cas died in the dungeon while he slept. It would be their own damn faults, but still, he’d feel bad.

He gathers the ingredients to reverse the spell and sets up next to the circle. The two little spirits stop moving and hover at the edge of the circle to watch him. He reads the lines of Enochian from his post-it note, and lastly uses an angel blade to scratch a line in the circle. The sigils flare, then fade into black and gray. Classic broken warding.

Then, nothing. The Dean and Cas are still passed out on the floor, and the two spirits are still bobbing near the edge of the now broken circle. They twine around each other like puppies rolling in the dirt.

Sam consults his notes. No, he did it correctly. They should be free to return to their bodies.
“Dean? Cas? Can you hear me? The spell is broken, you can go back to your bodies now,” he calls at the balls of light.

They pause, the eyes again materializing to look at him woefully, and…god dammit. Sam gets it now.

“Dean you dick, I swear to god. I’m fucking tired, I don’t care how stupidly in love you are, get back in your fucking body right this instant.”

Another mournful look from the big blue eyes.

“Cas, you’re better than this. I know you love him, but you can love him just as well from inside your body so I can go to sleep.”

He wouldn’t have thought that souls could pout, but there it is.

“You’ve got till the count of three before I start shooting off limbs. One,” he draw his gun, “two,”

Finally, with what Sam is fairly sure is the spirit version of flipping him off, both spirits dive into their respective bodies. Cas and Dean come too simultaneously, both sitting up abruptly and gasping for air.

Sam glares down at them. Both men’s heads swivel and land on Sam.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean drawls. He doesn’t look apologetic in the slightest. Cas delicately brushes off his chest and goes to stand. Sam rapidly turns his back before getting (another) eyefull.

“I apologize Sam, it appears that I underestimated the affinity of my grace for Dean’s soul, and vice versa. The spell didn’t reverse in the way I’d expected. Thank you for the rescue,” Cas says. It sounds remarkably like a dismissal, and less like the groveling for forgiveness that Sam feels he is due.

“Ah- no problem. I’ll just go get you some clothes and we can forget this ever happened.” Sam keeps his back turned and hears rustling behind him. Presumably the guilty couple putting themselves back together.

He hears another sound, and struggles to place it. It sounds like–

“Oh my god, are you two making out?” He stoically does not look.

“Clothes would be great Sammy,” comes Dean’s voice. “Give us…twenty minutes?”

“Half hour to be safe,” Cas chimes in.

“I hate you both,” Sam says.

He leaves the dungeon, locks himself in his room, puts on his noise canceling headphones, and decides they can get their own damn clothes.