Earthly Desires - MalMuses - Supernatural [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Chapter One

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean tried not to respond with what the f*ck, though that was exactly what was on the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately, by forcing himself not to say it, he said nothing at all; his mouth hung open like something from an early Cartoon Network show.

“Dean?” Cas asked again, his nerves coming out in a series of twisting, knotting, uncomfortable-looking finger motions in front of his chest.

They stood in the doorway of Dean’s apartment in Merritt Island, Dean with little Jack’s blanket still screwed up in one hand and Castiel standing uncertainly in the hallway beyond, the light dim from the late hour.

“Cas!” Dean gasped out at last, suddenly feeling a bit weak at the knees. “How did—What are—Cas!”

Castiel’s forehead bunched up, a tan bump of skin atop the bridge of his nose announcing his concern. He reached out, cautious and unsure, his fingers ghosting over Dean’s shoulder. The question in his eyes was clear, voice unneeded: Are you okay? Is this okay? Should I go?

“Cas,” Dean said one more time, before he crashed forward and wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, yanking him in hard toward his chest. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!”

There was a flinch. A tiny, almost imperceptible recoil, though the alien settled into his arms immediately after, bringing his hands up to the small of Dean’s back.

More carefully, Dean pulled back. His eyes searched Castiel, head to toe. His wild hair, his rumpled trench coat—the things he had only in this form. His huge, bright blue eyes—those Dean knew he had no matter what form he took. He looked the same.

“It—it’s you, right?” Dean asked, hearing the throbbing need in his own voice and not caring enough to be remotely embarrassed about it.

The alien nodded firmly.

“Are you okay? How did you—Where have you—” Dean cut himself off, laughing. He reached up to his face, his thumb and forefinger digging into the corners of his eyes and trying to push aside the tears that threatened. “You know what? Just, come in, okay? Please.”

Dean stepped aside, holding the door and gesturing into his small, neat home.

Castiel gave Dean a tiny, shy smile as he passed over the threshold, his stuffy dress shoes not denting the thick carpet at all, though Dean left heavy imprints with his bare toes as he closed the door.

Once Dean had slipped the door chain back into place and secured the lock, he turned back to Castiel.

The alien had taken a couple of steps past him, into the small living room. He turned slowly on the spot, taking in the space with the same kind of open intensity that Dean recalled he’d been just as prone to when they were at Ares Base. He stripped everything down with his eyes, a kind of stoic curiosity given to even the most mundane of things. He studied Dean’s couch, and his coffee table that was still cluttered with a few of Jack’s toys. He looked at the TV screen, turned off for now, and the pictures that Dean had framed on his walls: Sam and Gabriel’s wedding, Dean’s graduation from the NASA Academy, Sam opening his bar exam results. There were a lot of them, dotted around the room, and Castiel took in each and every one, slow and deliberate.

Dean stepped forward slowly. He wasn't sure where to start, he had so many things to say, to ask, but... he should calm down, first.

Castiel seemed too nervous to touch anything, so Dean picked up one of the frames from the bookshelf next to the TV and showed it to him, eagerly.

“This is my brother Sam,” he pointed, giving faces to the names that the alien had so often heard when they were together before. “And Gabriel, his husband. This is little Jack, their adopted boy. I took this picture the day I got back from Mars, when they came to visit me at the Kennedy Center.”

Castiel took them all in, nodding, understanding.

The simple frame went back onto the shelf, and Dean turned to the alien. He had calmed enough to ask some of his many questions, but he wanted to make something else clear, first.

“I missed you, Cas.”

The stiffness of the trench coat as Castiel raised his arms to envelop him was just one of a million odd little things that Dean had thought he would never experience again. He buried his face into the collar, breathing in the alien’s sharp ozone scent as he hugged him tight. Castiel nodded his head against the side of Dean’s, over and over, I missed you, too, clear in every dip of his chin.

They stood, wrapped closely in the middle of the living room, for a long time. As the minutes passed, Castiel seemed to slowly relax, his head dropping down to Dean’s worn shirt, his shoulders slumping, his back gently curving as he leaned into Dean’s embrace.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, suddenly realizing that was the only truly important question.

“I am now.” The alien’s voice was deep and gravelly, just as it had been in the strange dreamscape they’d spoken in on Mars.

“You can talk,” Dean observed.

“Yes, here.”

“Are you going to tell me how?” Dean asked, grinning slightly as his hand rose to card through the alien’s thick hair.

A small nod. “Yes, Dean. I’ll tell you everything, I just—” His voice wobbled, and broke.

Dean frowned down into Castiel’s temple, squeezing him just a little tighter. “Okay. It’s fine, Cas. In your own time.”

They made their way over to the couch when they finally pulled apart, though Dean still kept a hand on the base of Castiel’s back as they lowered themselves into the squishy leather seats.

Castiel studied Dean’s face, sitting right up next to him; it was too close to be polite, too intense to be quite human. But it was everything Dean had missed. It must have shown in his expression, because Castiel reached across to touch the back of Dean’s hand, a hopeful smile settling across his features.

“Is it okay that I’m here, Dean? I tried to—it took me longer than I intended,” Castiel said, changing course mid-sentence. “I would understand if you had found another mate you preferred, or—”

“Woah,” Dean interrupted with a smirk. “First of all, there has got to be a better word than ‘mate’, and secondly, no way. No, Cas. I didn’t want anyone else. Even if you were over fifty million kilometers away, I was still yours.”

Blue eyes narrowed into a familiar squint. “But we mated, Dean. Many times. So, you are my mate.”

“I, uh—yes, that’s true,” Dean said, fighting a childish giggle at the strangeness of the accurate term.

“So, you still wish to be my mate? I am not too late?”

Dean looked up from where he’d been busy entwining his fingers with Castiel’s, to see the nervous, hopeful look in the alien’s eyes. “Not too late. If you want to stay here, if you want to be on Earth with me, that would make me very happy.”

Castiel’s smile grew into one of the wide, gummy expressions that caused Dean’s chest to fill with a comfortable humming sensation. “Of course,” he said, still smiling. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you, Dean.”

Dean leaned in, sliding one hand up Castiel’s bicep to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. “I didn’t think you could come at all, Cas. This is—God, honestly this is amazing. Best day ever.”

Castiel leaned in eagerly until his forehead touched Dean’s. “I agree. I am very glad to have found you again. It is worth everything.”

Worth what, Dean wanted to ask, but the words flew from his mind as Castiel’s lips reunited with his. It was soft and chaste, like the alien was savoring every moment, every taste. Dean was happy to do the same, tangling his fingers in Castiel’s dark hair and keeping their kisses sweet, relieved, and gentle.

Castiel was the first to pull back, after a hazy, delightful few minutes.

“I know you must have many questions, Dean. I will answer anything you wish to hear, but for now—” He paused, looking a little awkward and shy all of a sudden. “I’m quite tired. It’s been a long journey, for me.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” Dean encouraged, pressing his palms to Castiel’s cheeks, sliding his thumbs softly across his cheekbones. “I know you don’t always sleep, but if you want to, then let’s just go to bed, Cas. You can rest and then tell me anything you want tomorrow.”

Castiel looked relieved, nodding into Dean’s hands.

The leather of the couch squeaked as they rose. Dean offered his hands to Castiel to heave him up from the seat, as he knew from experience it was one that was a little too soft and had a penchant for sucking people in. Dean led Castiel to his bedroom, not bothering to flick on the overhead light, just clicking the switch for the lamp on his nightstand.

Castiel regarded the room as intently as ever, but the slump of his shoulders gave away a weariness Dean wasn’t used to seeing. When his eyes returned to Dean at the side of the bed, they fixed on him for a long moment.

“Will you sleep with me, Dean, like we used to?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, of course, Cas. I’ve missed sleeping with you,” Dean said, smiling as he pulled off his shirt and slipped down the comfortable pants that he’d worn to play on the floor with Jack. He reached across and pulled the covers back, crawling onto the mattress and patting the empty space next to himself. “This bed is a lot bigger than the one at the base, too.”

Castiel sat down on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes. He reached up to begin to pull his coat and suit jacket from his shoulders, but Dean’s hands were already there.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” Dean said softly. “You look really worn-out, Cas. Let me help.”

Castiel blinked back at him, eyes blue and wide, as Dean tugged the beige trench coat off his shoulders. He folded it neatly in half, then came back to take the suit jacket. Castiel sat quietly as Dean turned him carefully, working open the buttons of Castiel’s dress shirt. There was nothing sexual about it, nothing risqué. Instead, Dean just found himself gently concerned, his excitement at having his alien love returned dampened by Castiel’s unusual weariness, and his reluctance to explain, even though it now seemed like he could.

The dress pants and undershirt went the same way as the button-up. Dean lay back on the bed, sinking into the pillow, and offered his arms up to Castiel.

The alien sank quietly into him, curling up against his collarbone with a light sigh. Dean stroked his hair until he slept.

~~***~~

“I’m sorry to have to call on such short notice,” Dean said thickly, sniffling firmly for good measure. “It crept up on me overnight.”

“That’s okay, Dean,” said the soft, feminine voice on the other end of the phone. “Do you think you’ll make it into the lab tomorrow? We have you penciled in to help demonstrate those new Zero-G toilet plans to our investors in the morning. Do we need to rearrange?”

“No, don’t stress Anna. I’ll be there in the morning to help them 'flush out' the details,” Dean said, unable to help himself. “I mean—flesh out the details.”

Anna groaned. “Obviously this cold won’t kill you if you still have room for terrible off-world toilet puns.”

“No, no,” Dean corrected. “I have space for toilet puns.”

“I’m hanging up now Dean.”

Dean tapped at the red button on his phone screen, ending the call to his co-worker Anna. He never called in sick, even when he was ill, so calling out just this once, so he could spend the day with Cas—he refused to feel particularly guilty.

He padded barefoot through his apartment in his underwear, heading to the kitchen. He smiled to himself as he pulled two mugs down from the cabinet over the sink. One was a white NASA gift-shop mug with a chip on the bottom, and the other was a corny gift from Bobby; he’d had it printed to look like one of the ubiquitous “The World’s Best Engineer!” mugs, but scratched through to say, “The Universe’s Best Engineer!” Dean smiled fondly, hitting a few buttons on the coffee maker before he picked up his phone again.

It only rang twice.

“Hey, Dean,” said Sam. “You’re calling early. Are you sure you can use words yet?”

“I was in a good mood. I got up to make coffee and thought I’d say hi.”

“Amazing. I just got back from my run. Gabe is done with his first round of baking so he’s taking a break for breakfast with me. Say hi, Gabe.”

There was a muffled yell from the other end of the line. Dean grinned down into the empty coffee mugs. “Breakfast date? That’s cute.”

“Not really. He smells like raw bread and has spent most of the meal talking about this weekend’s new conspiracy videos,” Sam grumbled.

“Does he have you wear a tin foil hat?”

“No, but I should make him one.”

“Hey!” Gabriel’s distant voice came over to Dean. “It was a big weekend in nutjob land, okay? They have footage of this huge, tentacled beast escaping from—”

“Come on Gabe, that’s enough,” Sam groaned.

Dean froze, mid-pour, the pitcher of coffee in hand. “Wait—what?”

“Not you too, Dean! Aliens on Mars isn’t enough, you think they’re here too?” Sam said, his tone alone giving Dean a crystal-clear picture of his very-done bitchface.

“It—” Dean hissed, realizing too late that he hadn’t stopped pouring the coffee. It overflowed the white NASA mug and pooled onto the counter, before dripping hotly down onto his bare toes. “—it’s interesting that’s all. If you don’t believe me, fine.”

“Well I’m sure the internet can tell you all about it, Dean,” Sam said primly. “Along with how the Earth is flat and Obama was a chameleon, if you’re so inclined.”

There was a fat pause while Dean mopped at the counter and the floor with a handful of paper towels. His mind was racing, spinning swift circles. Tentacles. Escaped. Escaped where? Could those crazy people online really be talking about—

“Dean?” Sam sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that I didn’t believe you. But you have to admit it sounds—”

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean cut him off. “I get it. Look, I have to go, okay. Catch you soon.”

“Dean, really, I didn’t mean—”

Dean hung up, uncaring. He could explain to Sam later.

He stood for a long moment, mopping the same spot on the counter with his bundle of paper towels, even though he’d already got all the coffee. He was tempted to flick over to his phone’s internet browser and start deep-diving on conspiracy theorist websites. Throughout his career, he’d seen many of them, with friends and relatives alike (Okay—Gabriel, it was always Gabriel) sending him well-meaning but annoying articles exclaiming that NASA was covering up everything from solar flares to the Statue of Liberty being an alien tech rocket. This, though? This felt a little closer to home.

So instead, he tidied away the coffee supplies, picked up his two full mugs, and went to coax the answer out of the only person who’d know.

Castiel was still asleep, curled onto his side and leaning forward over the bed, one arm stretched out as if he’d been searching for Dean during his slumber. His hair stuck up in every direction, going from his usual wild, sex-hair to fingers-in-the-light-socket hair. Dean stood in the doorway of his bedroom for a moment, his heart skipping.

Castiel was here. Right here, on Earth, in Dean’s bed.

Holy sh*t.

Despite everything; the mystery, the four months alone, the suspicion that his own brother didn’t really believe Castiel existed… Despite those, Dean was unbelievably happy. The connection he’d found withthe alien up on Mars had never been paralleled on Earth. In all his years, he’d never fallen for anyone the way he had for that strange, intense creature.

Carefully lowering the full coffee mugs to his nightstand, Dean slipped back into bed. He lifted up Castiel’s groping arm and placed it across his own stomach, snuggling down next to him. He pulled his thick comforter up over them both and tucked it around them, cocooning them against the cool morning air. Nestled within it, everything felt safer and less confusing.

Castiel frowned and blinked, coming half awake,though clearly not happy about it.

Dean nuzzled his face down into Castiel’s hair, gently tugging at him to ease him up against his side. “Morning, Cas. I brought you coffee,” he said into the dark, clean-smelling disarray.

Huge blue eyes blinked sleepily up at him, Castiel’s head turning against Dean’s chest to take him in. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of the alien’s lips.

“That’s how you know I love you—I got up early to make you coffee,” Dean whispered against his temple, unable to stop himself from grinning.

Pushing up on one elbow, Castiel tilted his head, regarding Dean thoughtfully.

“What?” Dean asked, reaching over to grab the two coffee mugs, offering “The Universe’s Best Engineer!” to the alien.

Castiel reached out to take the cup, his fingers looping exactly through the handle though he never took his eyes from Dean. “I… love you,” he said, slowly and carefully, his expression almost curious as he rolled the words around.

Dean couldn’t help a small laugh, though he pressed his lips into a line as quickly as he could. “You don’t sound too sure there, buddy.”

The alien gave him a glare over top of the coffee mug. Dean didn’t miss that Castiel was watching him intently, seeing how Dean handled his coffee before trying his own.

Dean took a careful sip, and Castiel copied. After a content little humming sound, he finally replied.

“Well, I have never said I love you before, Dean. I am certain, but it is new to use such words.”

“Oh.” Dean blinked down at the reflective surface of his black coffee, watching the curls of steam sleepily for a second before he squeezed his arm around Cas. “That makes sense. I guess English is new to you, and you were all alone up there. You don’t have to say it, by the way. A lot of times, people wait.”

“Wait?” Castiel tilted his head to the side. It was such a familiar sight, it made him look much more like himself than the night before. “Why wait? Is this a human tradition?”

“I guess so,” Dean said, shrugging his free shoulder against the headboard. “Just a weird human thing, I guess. Are we very strange to you?”

With a small hum of consideration, Castiel nuzzled into Dean's side once more, settling in with his coffee. “In some ways. Your language is fascinating, but it didn’t take long to learn. You can reach other planets, but in some ways, you are adorably primitive.”

Castiel’s hair tickled under Dean’s jawbone, and it felt so domestic and relaxed that Dean couldn’t help but kiss down into his hair again. “Speaking of reaching other planets,” Dean said, “are you gonna tell me how you did that?”

Up against Dean’s ribcage, Castiel stiffened.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” Dean asked gently, moving his hand slowly up and down Castiel’s back. He shifted down, sliding his hand to the back of Castiel’s neck as he sought out his eyes. “Something isn’t right, but I can’t help you feel better if you don’t tell me what it is, okay?”

Castiel gave a little shrug, and the gaze he turned up to Dean was teasing. “It shouldn’t be that difficult to work out. Aren’t you supposed to be an engineer, good at solving problems?” He grinned. “I have wings, Dean.”

Dean blinked, hard. “Right, I—I mean I knew you had wings, but I didn’t think you could just…” Dean flushed a little as he flapped his hands awkwardly in explanation.

“Fly?” said Castiel, his tone as dry as his smile. “Well, they aren’t decorative, Dean. It was a tiring flight, but my people—and myself—have flown much further in the past. We evolved to fly between stars. I wasn’t sure, at first, if you would really want me to come with you—”

Dean opened his mouth to interject, frowning, but Castiel continued, talking over him.

“—I realized that you did, when I saw how upset you were at leaving. It was frustrating not to be able to comfort you as I wished. I stayed behind for a couple of weeks, to check up on the new aliens you said would be arriving after you departed.”

Dean gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. “Well, that’s kind of odd to hear, that my colleagues were aliens. Totally accurate though, I guess. We’re the newcomers, to you.”

He felt Castiel’s cheek move up in a small smile against his bare chest.

“Indeed. I wanted to ensure that they wouldn’t mistreat the planet, as you did not. I see that your species don’t have much connection to the world around them, but mine do; I wouldn’t have them mistreat her.”

Dean couldn’t help but grin. “So, you ditched me for a lump of rock, I get it.”

Castiel lifted his head enough to glare up at him, drank down the rest of his coffee, and moved to put the cup on the nightstand. “I didn’t ditch you, Dean. I checked on the scientists when they arrived, then used the machine you gave me to find my way to you. I caught up with you not long before you entered Earth’s atmosphere, actually.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to get lost when you landed, so I hitched a ride the last few miles.”

“You—you hitched a ride on Ares 1?”

“Well, on the outside. I remained hidden from human sight, of course, I—” Cas cut off, suddenly. He swallowed harshly.

“But that was a couple of months ago,” Dean said. “What happened? Where were you?”

“I, uh—” Castiel’s tongue came out to moisten his lips, and his eyes were wider than only a moment before.

Dean noticed Castiel’s hands coming up to his chest as he rested on his side. He reached out, catching them gently and wrapping his fingers around Castiel’s own before they could start the familiar twisting, knotting motion that usually seemed to indicate the alien being nervous or concerned.

“Hey,” Dean said quietly. “It’s okay. Don’t get your tentacles in a knot, buddy. I’m not mad at you, or anything? Do you think I am?”

Castiel shook his head, sharp and jerky. “No, it’s just—it’s hard to talk about, I—”

“Then don’t,” Dean soothed immediately, reaching forward to pull Castiel into a hug. “Not yet, if you don’t want to. How about we just relax today, watch some movies or something, and you can try again another day, huh?”

Castiel seemed relieved, his shoulders dropping noticeably in Dean’s embrace.

“As you wish, Dean.”

Dean kissed him on the temple, grinning against his tan skin. “Was that a Princess Bride quote?”

“It was the first film that you showed me, Dean,” Castiel responded earnestly, calmer.

“Then let’s go watch it again, huh?”

“That would be nice.”

Dean tugged Castiel out of the bed and guided him around the apartment with a little smile. He so rarely got to share the domestic parts of his life with anyone; being an astronaut wasn’t a profession that lent itself to long term relationships, on the whole. Six months or more on another planet periodically was usually enough to put off even the most determined of partners. Picking up a boyfriend on another planet had certainly never been on his radar. But now that Cas was here, Dean was excited to show him everything about Earth and share the little parts of his life that were usually lonely. He introduced Castiel to the concepts of soft pajamas, pastry for breakfast, and fuzzy socks.

The alien seemed particularly delighted by the socks Dean gave him, wiggling his toes as he sunk into the squishy couch with a slice of leftover cherry pie from the night before. Dean snuggled up next to him, manning the remote and watching fondly as Castiel seemed enraptured by the movie all over again.

Dean was preoccupied, worried about the implications of Castiel’s arrival in Merritt Island. But perhaps, he hoped, they could have at least a little time together before he had to really think about that.

Castiel seemed happy to forget about whatever was upsetting him and directed all his intensity toward the television screen, his fascinated blue gaze following Westley on his adventure just like the first time.

If Dean occasionally shot him a concerned look or held him a little closer, he seemed to be none the wiser.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Back on Ares Base, Castiel hadn’t ever really participated in meals, other than the single dinner with Dean which had led to their first kiss. So, treating his boyfriend to breakfast wasn’t really on the cards, Dean decided. Castiel would eat periodically, mainly sweet things, but he didn’t need to. Coffee, though… boy, did that alien love coffee.

He stood next to Dean in the small, exceptionally clean kitchen of Dean’s apartment. They had a lot less room than back on Ares Base, but as Castiel seemed to like to stand close enough to make a priest blush, it didn’t matter too much.

“So, you take this part out—” Dean demonstrated, tugging the old filter out of the coffee machine. “—and trash the old grounds, before you put in the fresh ones.”

Castiel nodded solemnly, watching Dean drop the damp, chunky filter into the trash can under the sink as if he was imparting some great secret of the universe.

“Once that’s done, I usually give it a bit of a wipe with a paper towel; this machine is a little old and she leaks now and again—” Dean continued explaining, feeling oddly pleased that the dumb human could show the hyper-intelligent alien a few more things, now that he was on his own turf.

Castiel leaned over, peering down into the grounds chamber of the coffee pot to see that it was clean, before nodding emphatically. Even though he could speak perfectly well, Dean noticed that he often didn’t bother. Whether it was a true preference, or just a habit, remained to be seen.

“Alright, new filter goes in like so,” Dean said. “Then two big scoops of the coffee. You do it.”

Castiel looked at the handled measurer he was offered, blinking at it, before very, very carefully scooping the grounds into the coffee machine. He eyed it suspiciously, treating the entire process with the same reverence that Dean reserved for hydrogen fuel rockets.

“Good,” Dean said, feeling proud of Castiel. Which was ridiculous, because it was a f*cking coffee machine, and he’d taught Castiel how to drive a dune buggy and use an alpha magnetic spectrometer back on Mars.

Castiel looked pretty happy with himself too, particularly when Dean clicked the button and it turned on successfully. The usually stoic, serious alien looked kinda adorable like that, Dean decided.

“Great job, Cas. Now you can have hot, fresh coffee whenever you want.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel replied warmly. “It was very kind and thoughtful of you to show me this.”

“Well,” Dean said, bumping his hip against Castiel’s as they both leaned on the counter, waiting. “You are my mate, after all.”

No matter how weird the term sounded to Dean, he’d discovered over the past twenty-four hours that it delighted Castiel, and often led to the kind of hungry look in the alien’s eyes that led to sudden, intense make-out sessions. So, “mate” it was.

They’d spent the previous day lazing around, watching movies and occasionally devolving into the kind of casual heavy-petting that Dean had missed more (if he’d have been pushed to be honest) than he missed actual sex. Just having someone close to fool around with on the couch while Blazing Saddles played in the background was one of his favorite things.

Castiel still seemed a little upset or jumpy, on and off, and Dean wasn’t sure how to coax any more out of the alien without asking directly. Which he would do, he decided, bit by bit.

Dean filled up two clean coffee mugs. One was the routine white NASA kind that he had a handful of, the other was one that appeared black until the hot coffee hit it, revealing tiny stars and planets once the porcelain warmed. He gave that one to Castiel, not missing how the alien’s eyes lit up as he poured the drink into it.

They drank their mugs down in the kitchen while Dean gathered the last of his things for the lab and shoved them into his worn messenger bag. He’d skipped work the day before, but he couldn’t duck out again and leave his colleagues on their own for the engineering demonstration. Dean wasn’t flakey, even when he had a sexy alien in his apartment. He’d also received no less than six text messages from his best friend Charlie, demanding to know if he had some kind of latent Mars disease that was keeping him off work, as he usually had the immune system of a horse.

Dean and Charlie had been at college together, and now she worked at NASA in their artificial intelligence division. They always joked that anything Dean built, she could teach how to build more of itself. Dean suspected it was actually true, as the nerdy redhead was the smartest person he knew—she even had an edge on his brother Sam, on a lot of subjects. Part-time hacker and full-time pest, Dean knew Charlie would be ecstatic if she knew the real reason he’d stayed home. She’d devoted almost as many hours of her life to getting Dean laid as he had, back in college. Dean hadn’t been a bad wingman either; hitting on women first to see if they politely told him they were gay, so he could then fire Charlie in their direction.

The past few years, Charlie had a lot more game than Dean had, and she was currently seeing a feisty, Scottish woman ten years her senior, who Charlie claimed had “taught her whole new bases.” Dean didn’t want to think about what that could possibly mean in a lesbian capacity, but he was glad that when he worked out how to explain Castiel to Charlie, he’d have some equally irritating happiness to torture her with in turn.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, shoving the baggie of snacks he’d put together the night before into his bag. “Can I ask one question before I leave for work? Y’know, as your most loved, favorite mate?”

Castiel gave him a firm squint, showing that he clearly realized how facetious Dean was being, but had decided to let him get away with it. “Of course.”

“You don’t have to answer,” Dean said more gently, reaching out to entwine his fingers with Castiel’s. He leaned back on the kitchen counter, after checking quickly that his white NASA shirt wasn’t going to get any damp patches on it, and pulled the alien across to stand in front of him, between his feet.

Castiel nodded.

“I’m curious why you’re speaking to me now, when you weren’t on Mars. I’m happy that you are now,” Dean added quickly. “And I don’t mind that you didn’t then, either, but I’m not sure why you didn’t speak, if you could.”

A small smile showed in Castiel’s eyes, paired with a tiny smirk.

“What?” said Dean, cautiously. “You look like you want to laugh at me.”

“I apologize. It’s obvious to me, but I forget you know nothing of my species. The internet and your movies taught me a lot about humans, but you haven’t had the same opportunity. My natural voice is much lower than this one, Dean. I’m currently speaking in what, for me, is quite a high-pitched voice,” Castiel said, adding a little nod at the end, as if he thought that explained everything.

“Cas,” Dean said, slowly, with a tiny smirk of his own. “Break it down for the silly human, please.”

“Oh.” Castiel looked apologetic. “You are very smart, Dean. But human brains work very slowly.”

“…Thanks?” Dean said, feeling like he was somehow going mentally cross-eyed.

“You’re welcome,” replied Castiel seriously. “So, what is the air pressure on Earth, Dean?”

Dean felt his expression do a strange three-sixty, all the way through bafflement and back to patience, at the unexpected question. “Uh, mean atmospheric pressure at sea level is 14.69 psi,” he said, glad that at least it was a question vaguely in his engineering realm.

Another nod from Castiel. “Yes. And on Mars?”

“0.087 psi, as a surface average,” Dean answered quickly. That one he still had memorized.

“So, what happens to sound at low pressure, Dean? How would it affect the intensity?”

Dean pulled a face at Castiel, knowing that the alien meant well but not appreciating the kindergarten-teacher-tone. His response was slightly bratty, unable to resist showing the alien that humans brains worked at a perfectly normal speed, thank you. “Well, the intensity of the sound varies depending on the pressure and particle velocity, standard I=pv, where p is sound pressure and v is particle velocity, so if you wanted to calculate—oh!”

Castiel raised one corner of his mouth into a crooked smile.

“Your voice is very low, so unless you made a high-pitched sound—like when I hit you with that solar panel that day—I wouldn’t have been able to hear anything. Human ears don’t have the capacity.”

Dean loved the wide, gummy grins that Castiel gave him when he was really pleased.

“Yes, Dean. In fact, my voice probably would have hurt your ears. I didn’t want to risk it. But here, the atmospheric pressure is much higher, and I can comfortably speak in a register you can hear. I have some… I suppose you would call them empathic abilities, which helped us communicate, but audible language is certainly my preference.”

“Well, I’m glad you can, here.” Dean grinned and pulled Castiel in further, determined to get in a few more kisses before work. “I like being able to speak to you.”

“I am grateful that you had the patience to communicate with me, regardless, and that you worked out that I didn’t wish you harm. After a couple of false starts, anyway.”

Dean laughed against Castiel’s cheek, remembering. “Dude, I was terrified when you showed up. You look like a beautiful man who sells ad space or something, and you were just… strolling around. On Mars. Where I couldn’t even breathe.”

Castiel smiled serenely. “You were more afraid of me bringing you a rock than you were seeing my true form. A miscalculation on my part, perhaps. I thought a familiar form would make interacting with you easier.”

Dean gave one last kiss to the alien’s nose. “Well if it wasn’t clear enough back at the base, I’m delighted to interact with you in every form. Unfortunately, though, I have to get to work.”

Castiel nodded, stepping back so that Dean could move away from the counter.

“Perhaps this evening you can remind me of your other form, too,” Dean said with a wink, swinging his packed bag up to his shoulder.

Something flickered past Castiel’s deep blue eyes and his shoulders briefly tensed. It passed before Dean could say anything, and Castiel was pushing him gently through the apartment toward the door.

“You must go to your place of employment. I understand that following clocks exactly is a big part of human work, so you should hurry.”

“Are you going to be okay, Cas?” Dean asked seriously, turning in the doorway.

“I understand how to select movies, and you have demonstrated to me the method for obtaining coffee; I will be fine.”

That wasn’t what Dean meant, but he smiled and leaned in to kiss Castiel goodbye. It was a brief peck, simple and affectionate—Dean stood out in the hallway, with Castiel leaning on the doorframe, ready to close the door.

Something fond and warm bloomed in Dean's chest at the simple, homely scene. Something excited, and loving, and hopeful.

Whatever was wrong, whatever had upset Castiel, he’d make it better.

Seeing the messy-haired alien waving him off in Dean’s soft sweatpants and an old NASA shirt that was just slightly tight across his broad shoulders, Dean realized that he wanted this, every day. He wanted it a lot, this quietly domestic life.

He sang along to Led Zeppelin all the way to work.

~~***~~

Dean’s beige plastic lunch tray was shunted across the table by the sudden, loud appearance of a matching tray beside it.

“Shift your ass over, Winchester, and tell me who you had sex with.”

Dean grinned, looking up at the tiny red-headed woman who was shuffling into the cafeteria booth next to him. He reached out, quickly steadying his tipping soda as she made herself comfortable. “Damnit Charlie, you couldn’t have just sat opposite me?”

“No,” Charlie said, wrinkling her nose. “Sitting opposite you when it’s just the two of us feels like a date, and that’s weird and gross. Now, the sex face. Tell me.”

“Sex face?” Dean laughed, looking at her in disbelief.

Charlie stabbed at a piece of chicken on her plate, hoisting it on the end of her fork and using it to gesticulate firmly towards Dean’s face, squinting suspiciously. “You’ve been miserable ever since you came home from Mars, then you take one day off and roll in here grinning like the Joker. Either you went crazy, or you got laid.”

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle, though he dropped his eyes back to his plate, studying his fries. He picked one up and rolled it between his fingers, slowly. “I didn’t, actually.”

“So, you expect me to believe you were alone and actually sick yesterday?”

“I never said I was alone—”

“Dean!” Charlie elbowed him sharply in the side. “Spill. You were with someone, but… not a sexy someone? That’s worse! What the heck?”

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, still holding the fry but not raising it to his mouth. Charlie was his best friend, and outside of Sam, she was the only person he’d ever speak to about this kind of stuff… period. But even Charlie probably wouldn’t believe the truth, and he didn’t want too many people thinking he needed to go and see Dr. Vallens for some kind of treatment for, like, space hallucinations or some sh*t.

But… it was Charlie.

“I, uh.” Dean cleared his throat. “I did kinda meet someone, but you aren’t going to believe me if I tell you about them.”

Charlie raised one reddish-brown eyebrow, the freckles across her forehead contorting as she took him in. “Is it crazier than the woman with the Zorro mask?”

“Oooh, yeah.” Dean nodded. “That was just kinky, this is… well, this is a whole other beast.”

“Ugh, it’s not, like, someone who wants like, scat related stuff or something, is it? I’m eating.”

Dean cringed. “Each to their own, Charles, but nope, not for me.” He put down the fry he’d been manhandling, leaving the bent, cold chunk at the side of his plate and turning to face Charlie. He looked around the cafeteria, seeing a sea of NASA shirts and lab coats bustling around, but no one paying particular attention to them.

Charlie waited, her chicken hovering in midair.

“I promise I’m not crazy.” As soon as it came out of his mouth, Dean realized he probably could have picked a better opening.

“Uh, okay,” Charlie eyed him flatly. “Did you marry a ghost, like that woman I saw on the Reality Channel?”

“I’m not married,” Dean said. “But, the ghost part? Yeah, that’s possibly less weird than mine.”

“Alright, spit it out Dean. I promise to believe you.”

Thinking that she’d probably regret saying that, Dean took a deep breath. “I met someone—” He looked around one more time, whispering as quietly as he could, “ImetanalienonMars.”

“What?”

“An alien,” he hissed. “On Mars.”

Charlie looked blank, slowly bringing her cold chicken up to her mouth and chewing deliberately before she replied. “So, uh, did Gabriel start getting you to—”

“No!” Dean snapped. “This is not some aluminum-foil-hat crazy thing, okay?”

Charlie regarded him like he’d grown an extra head.

Dean sighed, pushing his still-full plate away on the tray and grabbing his soda. He stuck the straw in his mouth, sulkily speaking around it before he drank. “It’d be really cool if at least one person would genuinely believe me, okay?”

“Well, can you prove it?” Charlie asked, logically.

“I mean, yeah, I suppose. They're here now.”

“Here, like…”

“They came to Earth. For me. Like, followed me, so we could still—” Dean waved his hands, helplessly. Something felt odd and heavy in his chest, more sad than annoyed that no one could just be happy for him.

“So… you met someone. And that someone is a Martian.” Charlie summarized, reaching to steal Dean’s cold fries, not looking at him at all. “And you can prove it, you say.”

“You could meet them, if they're okay with that. I promise I’m not nuts, okay, I—”

“Okay.” Charlie said, looking over at Dean, with a tiny grin. “Dean, come on. You say you can prove it, I’m gonna let you prove it. But really, you know me—how do you think I haven’t already theorized that aliens exist? Scientifically speaking, it’d be incredibly unlikely that we are actually alone in the—oof!”

Charlie was cut off as Dean suddenly dived forward and squeezed her tight.

“Oh god, you believe me. Thank f*ck,” Dean babbled, excited.

Charlie made a grumbling sound, as Dean’s tight arms prevented her from munching her stolen fry.

“Thank you for giving me a chance, Red, really—you’re gonna love them, Cas is awesome, I promise you, fun and sweet and I’ve never—” Dean cut himself off, feeling a flush growing on his cheeks as he released Charlie. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone.”

“Oh my god,” Charlie teased. “You’re blushing. Dean Winchester is in love. He has feelings.”

Dean glared at her, sucking on the straw of the soda cup he still held. “Don’t be a dick about it.”

“Okay, okay. So—tell me everything,” Charlie directed. “It does sound crazy, but what are besties for? I’ll believe you as best I can, and then asap I can meet your alien lady, or dude or whatever, and get proof. Ooh—do they have three boobs?”

“Nah,” Dean said, casually picking up his cheeseburger. “They’re a giant, winged creature with tentacles.”

Charlie made a choking noise, gagging on Dean’s lunch.

He slapped her on the back, grinning. “Probably should have eased you into that part.”

“For real, Dean? Tentacles? Like your—”

“Yes, Charlie,” Dean cut her off quickly, looking paranoidly around the lunch room. “Like those. But maybe I can give you the details somewhere… else?”

“Ooh!” Charlie nodded emphatically, looking around and dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Right. Top secret, I’m guessing. Wait—does NASA, like, know?”

“Nope,” Dean said, popping the p.

“How did you even—come on.” Charlie verbally changed course in the middle of her sentence, and suddenly stood up. She grabbed their abandoned lunch trays, one in each hand, and took them to the nearby trash can, before jerking her head at Dean. “Come on. We can go for a walk before lunch is over.”

“Hey, I was gonna eat that!” Dean grumbled, sliding out of the booth.

“I’ll buy you a burger at the Roadhouse on the weekend, whatever. Let’s take a walk outside, in the nice, fresh, camera-less air.”

She had a point, even if he would miss his lunch. Which sucked, because Tuesday was bacon cheeseburger day.

So, they walked. Dean started at the beginning, recapping all the parts of the Ares mission that he had thus-far not confessed to.

Charlie squinted in the midday Florida sun, occasionally exclaiming and asking questions, but mostly allowing Dean to tell his weird tale.

“So…” Dean spread his arms, coming to a halt in the middle of a patch of dried grass between the main buildings and one of the launch areas, empty as it was unused that day. “That’s it. That’s the story of me and Cas. Could you, uh, maybe make some kind of expression? I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking that I wish I’d never had to hear about what those tentacles did, but I should have seen that coming. You weirdo.”

Dean laughed, but it was a nervous sound. He brought his hand up to the back of his neck, resting it on the skin which had been warmed by the bright sun. “So that’s it? You don’t have any other questions?”

Charlie smiled bumping her arm into Dean’s as they began to move back toward the Kennedy Center, lunch almost over. “I mean, I have a million questions—like what the hell Cas sees in a dork like you, to start with,” she teased.

“Bitch.”

“Also, though…” Charlie shot him a sideways look, something devious in her expression. “If you want to find out what happened with Cas when you landed, maybe you should check out the video of your mission closeout and see if there’s any clues there.”

Dean blinked. “I mean… I could. I’m curious, but more than that, he seems upset about something and I don’t know how to help.”

Charlie nodded. “I get it. I mean, I’m curious now too, so if you look it up, let me know so I can look as well.”

“Yeah, I’ll message you,” Dean agreed. “And hey—thanks, Charlie. Really. It was kinda good to talk about all that with someone other than Sam and not have to ignore his eye-rolling. He’s trying, but I can tell he thinks I’m talking sh*t.”

“Understandable,” Charlie said kindly. She came to a stop and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I gotta get back to the lab now, though. I’m programming a six-million-dollar robot to tighten screws.”

“Wow. I’m working out why the flushing mechanism on the ISS latrine keeps jamming, so really, we’re both doing big things.”

They laughed, and parted ways.

Charlie was in a different department, with her AI specialization rather than Dean’s regular old engineering job that he filled whenever he was on the ground, in between his more specific mission training. But NASA had an in-house instant messaging system that made it quicker for colleagues to communicate, rather than relying on email or—God forbid—walking to someone else’s office. As much as Dean joked that the system was training them to be even more anti-social, it did have some very important reasons for its use, such as keeping contamination between different labs at a minimum and eliminating the noise that telephone calls would make, which might be bothersome during complex experiments.

At least today, Dean realized, it would also mean he could contact Charlie without his colleagues overhearing.

Once back at his lab, he checked his cellphone and keys in the box at the door and pulled on his white lab coat. He was working on the computer that afternoon, so he didn’t need gloves or a mask, but NASA was, understandably, a huge stickler when it came to cross-contamination and security.

Sitting down, it only took Dean a minute to make a decision.

He logged on to the network, and navigated his way to the Ares mission files. He hadn’t accessed them since he’d logged his final reports a couple of months ago.

There was an entire folder dedicated to video footage of Ares 1’s landing back on Earth, from multiple cameras on the ground, inside the cabin, and outside of the ship. There were other folders, full of reports from Kennedy and Johnston, Dean’s own reports, recordings of his daily check-ins from base—everything. Every image and keystroke of the mission was kept in this one central spot, to let researchers access the material and those who were planning new missions see what had been done before.

Dean clicked in to the folder of video files from the landing, and clicked on one of the ship’s exterior cameras, guessing that would be his best bet for any Castiel clues. He didn’t know what he was looking for—just a shadow, perhaps, or some movement or disturbance outside the craft that might indicate that something—someone—had landed with him.

He skipped through the several hours of footage, deciding to start from a few kilometers outside of the Earth’s atmosphere.

The footage was fairly boring; there wasn’t much to see outside of the ship other than, well, space. Which was pretty and all, but not helpful to Dean. The camera shifted as Ares 1 moved, turning and carefully lining up for entry; they had planned a Soyuz style landing on the Kennedy Center’s SLF—Shuttle Landing Facility—and it had gone without a hitch.

Dean skipped forward another minute, while Ares 1 continued her maneuvering.

Suddenly, the screen went black.

Along the bottom rolled a single word in stark, white text: REDACTED.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester: Charlie

Dean Winchester: Charles

Dean Winchester: OI CHUCKLES

Dean Winchester: Stop working, it’s important

Charlene Bradbury: More important than the lines of code you just made me mess up, you scruffy nerf herder?!?

Dean Winchester: YES

Charlene Bradbury: Oh, well then. In that case. Go ahead.

Dean Winchester: What you suggested I look for? It’s gone

Charlene Bradbury: Gone?

Dean Winchester: Redacted. Every record—look for yourself, on the mission archive.

Charlene Bradbury: Holy f*cksticks Batman. Ok. I’ll call you after work.

Dean leaned back in his chair and slowly spun, turning his eyes up to the white ceiling tiles. Every single video he’d tried, from every camera, cut out at exactly the same moment. The landing of Ares 1 had been effectively struck from the public record.

That made him very uneasy.

You’re overreacting, Dean, he told himself repeatedly as he tweaked the virtual models of the parts he was working on redesigning. There’s no f*ckin’ conspiracy; you sound like Gabriel. Chill.

The rest of the day was the slowest day he’d ever worked.

He was desperate to get home to Castiel, first of all; not only because he wanted to check on him and enjoy his company, but because there was now a tiny, crazy fear in the back of his head that something was very wrong.

On top of that, he was counting down the seconds until he could call Charlie. Like all of the employees, he couldn’t use his cell phone in the lab, so he had to wait until he checked out. Even if he snuck out early, he realized, there would be no point—Charlie was in her own lab, doing fancy smarty-pants AI things. She wouldn’t be able to answer even if he did call.

The clock ticked torturously onward (metaphorically, at least—the clock in the lab was digital and showed the time in several time zones) until Dean finally stood and ripped off his lab coat.

“I’m getting out of here, guys,” he said to Anna, Max, and Rufus. “I think we should try another full-scale prototype based on the new models tomorrow, and I’m still feeling a bit rough anyway—”

Anna waved at him, cutting him off and shooing him toward the doorway. “Go check out. If you make a single one of us sick, we’re coming for you.”

Rufus, the oldest and grumpiest of all the engineers, squinted at Dean and nodded. “I haven’t been sick since ninety-seven. If you break my streak you’ll be buying the donuts for a month. Get outta here, Winchester.”

Dean was already half out the door, grabbing his cell phone and swiping his security card. “Bye, guys,” he called over his shoulder.

He made it out of the building before texting Charlie to say he was off already, so she could call the second she was free. For now, he was going to go and sit in Baby for five minutes, calm down, and take a second to get his sh*t together before driving home.

To his surprise, his phone rang only a couple of minutes later, bouncing across the dashboard as he dug through his work bag for his keys.

“Charlie,” he said by way of greeting, shoving the phone between his ear and shoulder. “That was quick.”

“Yeah, I was actually waiting on you to call or text.”

“You aren’t still in the lab?” Dean asked, locating the Impala keys and inserting them as he talked.

“Dean we need to meet face to face.”

“What?” About to start the engine, Dean froze, his thumb resting against the key.

“We can’t talk on the phone.”

“Are you serious?” Dean frowned. Charlie was a huge nerd, and yeah, she’d mess with him sometimes, but he wouldn’t have thought she’d pull some kinda prank to make him worry like this.

“Yes, Dean. I’m headed to my apartment, meet me.”

“Uh, okay, what—”

Charlie hung up.

Dean looked down at the screen of his phone, his stomach sinking uncomfortably down into the footwell as he started the engine. Usually, Baby’s throaty purr soothed him, but now her rumble seemed to agree that tension was the order of the day, and Dean’s shoulders grew tighter and tighter as he drove.

Charlie’s huge, modern apartment was only six blocks off the highway, and it didn’t take more than ten minutes to get there. Dean pulled up into the familiar parking garage, where he’d frequently spent game nights and movie nights ever since Charlie had moved to Merritt Island, only a couple of months after he had. The apartment had been a little fuller of late, but the distinctive red BMW that Charlie’s girlfriend Rowena drove was nowhere in sight.

He hopped out quickly, grabbing his bag from pure habit and locking Baby. He jogged up the steps and was about to knock on the door, but Charlie whipped it open in front of his face and dragged him inside.

“Hey, Charles—is this going to take long? Cas will be expecting me home and he doesn’t have a phone or—”

“No,” Charlie cut him off. “We should be as quick as we can, then you should head straight home as normal.”

Dean frowned at her. “You’ve gone all covert ops on me. You’re freaking me out.”

“Good.”

Charlie headed straight to her kitchen table, where her laptop was already open. Dean was only half joking when he referred to Charlie as a part-time hacker; she certainly frequented parts of the internet he’d only heard about in crime dramas and occasionally had a very alarming—particularly for NASA employment—“stick it to the man” kind of attitude. But, she was practically his sister, so he indulged it as he did most other things.

“Charlie,” Dean asked carefully, his eyes flickering over the screen. There were a ton of folders and software he’d never seen. “What did you do?”

“I, uh, got what you wanted to see.” Charlie flicked her eyes sideways at Dean, sliding into the tall stool that reached up to the kitchen counter.

Dean pointedly didn’t settle onto the second stool, standing slightly behind Charlie and leaning one arm forward onto the marble countertop instead. “Alright, little hacktivist… show me.”

Charlie tapped onto the touchpad, and one of the videos loaded. It was similar to the one Dean had attempted to watch in the lab, but from a different angle.

The video progressed, but as it reached the point where Dean’s version had hit the redacted screen, it continued.

“Charlie,” Dean said, a low warning in his voice. “How did you—”

“Best you don’t know,” she answered, more chipper than she probably should have been.

“Right.”

They watched together as Ares 1 continued its descent. Dean could remember the landing clear as day, every report he gave, every adrenaline-fueled yell. His knuckles ached in sympathy as he remembered clinging desperately onto the arms of the pilot’s chair, counting down as the autopilot did its part.

This view was a little different though, from outside the rocket. Dean was about to open his mouth and ask Charlie what exactly they were looking for, when the camera gave a small jolt.

No more than a few feet in front of it, a dent appeared in the side of the shuttle.

Dean hadn’t been aware of it at the time; Ares 1 was speeding through the atmosphere at faster than the speed of sound, almost eight kilometers per second. Dean had other things to worry about. Through the vibrations and noise, something hitting the port side of the shuttle had gone unnoticed.

But it was something big, to leave a dent like that.

Charlie looked up at him, her green eyes wide.

They didn’t say anything, their shared thought clear: Castiel.

Dean couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen, watching the dent, seeing if he could see anything at all… but there was nothing.

“There’s more,” Charlie said, reaching for the touchpad so she could fast forward. “There’s nothing that we can see for the rest of the descent, but the readings from the sensors outside the ship on that side went nuts for a split second. I’m sure they righted themselves before you noticed, but if you look in depth at the readings NASA has recorded, they show something that blocked all six of the sensors on that panel, yet weighed absolutely nothing.”

Dean nodded slowly.

Charlie had fast-forwarded to touchdown, and Ares 1 was now speeding down the SLF runway at almost 360 kilometers per hour, it’s drag chute already deployed behind it, a giant white sail that helped it finally halt.

“Keep your eyes on the port side,” Charlie whispered. “Look.”

Dean’s gaze had been pulled to the other side of the screen, where a huge mass of people and vehicles waited to swarm the ship and retrieve the pilot—retrieve him, he reminded himself—as soon as it stopped. But at Charlie’s words he moved his eyes to the back end of the shuttle… and was surprised to see a smaller team of people in the distance, progressing along the runway after Ares 1 like a trail of ants.

“Can you enhance that?” Dean asked.

Charlie gave him a flat look. “Who do you think I am, Dean? This isn’t an episode of CSI.”

“You stole from NASA; this could easily be the first five minutes of the episode.”

“Just shut up and keep watching, dork.”

Dean did, though it killed him, a million questions on his tongue. Suddenly, Charlie paused.

“Did you see it?” Charlie asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Thought not.” Charlie stopped the recording and rewound a couple of seconds. She blew the window up to cover the whole screen and started very slowly clicking through the video frame by frame.

The first of the ants—people in black uniforms, Dean now realized, a large group of them—caught up to the shuttle as it sat on the runway.

Everyone’s focus would have been on the other side of Ares 1, where the exit door was, including Dean’s; he’d had no idea there was a second team on the tarmac.

The person in the uniform raised something to his shoulder, aiming it at the side of the ship.

“Is that like, a grenade launcher or something?” Dean said in disbelief.

“Or something,” Charlie answered dryly.

The object, whatever it was, fired. The circular barrel, very like that of a grenade launcher, glowed for a couple of frames as something ejected from it and sped toward Ares 1.

But, it never hit the side of the ship. Instead, there was a huge white flash; obscured from the other side, Dean was sure, by the bulk of the vessel.

“Here we go,” Charlie said, her voice almost fearful. She clicked to the next frame.

Whatever it was didn’t hit the ship—it hit the thing on the side of the ship.

The next frame was confusing. The camera lens was blocked by something huge, and black, and moving.

“That—that’s—” Dean croaked.

The next frame was empty. The side of the ship could be seen again, and the second team on the runway were already withdrawing.

Vehicles of all kinds surrounded Ares 1, whisking Dean away to quarantine, removing the drained fuel cells, a complete landing team piling on board. There were technicians, fire officials, engineers.

The huge truck at the back of the runway hadn’t seemed ominous at the time, but it certainly did now.

“Dean?” Charlie asked, looking up at him. “Are you okay?”

“They had him all this time,” Dean said, dazed. “They shot Cas, and they put him in that truck, and they…”

He was shaking.

Charlie nodded, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder. “But, importantly, he’s with you now, right? Wherever he was, they let him go, or—”

“Or he escaped,” Dean said, solemn and certain.

“He just showed up the night before last?” Charlie asked, uncertain, the tone of her words giving away what she was avoiding saying.

“Yeah,” Dean said, his mouth dry. “He showed up on my doorstep Sunday night.”

“So, they kept him all this time,” Charlie said, voicing what Dean couldn’t quite bring himself to.

As she said it, something in Dean snapped, boiling and angry, and his fist hit the table. “Two months, Charlie. Two f*cking months. What the hell did they do to him?”

Charlies expression was sympathetic, but she had no answer.

~~***~~

Dean stood outside his apartment door. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm and center himself before he went inside. He reached down to his bag, ready to grab his keys, but the door opened before he’d pulled them out.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said. He was still dressed in Dean’s soft clothes from the day before, barefoot, pants slung low on his hips, t-shirt tight in all the right places.

There was something so surreal, and so amazing, about Castiel just being stood there, so casual and domestic, opening the door and welcoming Dean home. Dean stared helplessly for a moment, before getting his tongue to cooperate. “Heya, Cas.”

Dean stepped forward, his eyes searching all over Castiel’s face, as if he could find some clue there that would fill him in on the missing two months the alien had been on Earth. But there was nothing, only Castiel’s increasingly concerned frown.

“Dean?”

“I—” Dean didn’t know what to say. Castiel didn’t want to talk about it yet, perhaps, but Dean couldn’t pretend he didn’t know. “I saw the recording of Ares 1 landing, today.”

Castiel blinked, then nodded slowly, seeming to understand. He stepped aside silently to let Dean into the apartment.

As soon as Dean was inside, stood on the mat that he had placed out to wipe his boots and keep the pale carpet in the living room clean, Dean turned to face Castiel. He reached out and took his hand carefully, entwining their fingers cautiously.

Castiel looked down at their joined hands, as he’d done on another planet months before, and stared at them for a moment. He only moved when Dean tugged him into the living room, toward the couch.

By the time they settled into the leather seats, Castiel’s face had fallen, his eyes blue eyes shining and glassy as he raised them back to Dean.

“I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t you dare say sorry,” Dean cut in. “None of this is your fault. You did nothing to deserve this, Cas. You are kind, and gentle, and generous. You’re a freakin’ person—a hyper-intelligent, amazing, person. They didn’t even stop to—” He pressed his lips together, forcing himself to stop speaking.

Castiel’s hands came forward, clawing at Dean’s shoulders, and Dean leaned in. For a moment they just clung to each other. Slowly, the tension ebbed out of them, and Castiel gradually slumped down, resting his temple against Dean’s shoulder. Dean wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. When Castiel’s hands came up in front of his chest, twisting together and knotting while resting on Dean’s ribcage, Dean slipped his hand down Castiel’s biceps and covered his hands with his own.

“What did they do to you, Cas?” Dean asked, rubbing his thumb along Castiel’s knuckles. He could hear that he sounded wrecked, the image of the black-clad mystery team on the tarmac next to Ares 1 still burned into the back of his mind. But this wasn’t about him, so he shut his mouth tight, not asking or saying any more.

“They, uh, they seemed to, uhm—” Castiel shifted against Dean’s side, but continued. “They didn’t understand how I worked, I suppose, how I—Well, they experimented, mostly.”

Since Castiel had arrived on Earth and started speaking, his tone had always been overly formal, his words considered and carefully chosen, in the way that someone speaking a language different to their own often spoke. Dean found it quite charming. To hear him stumbling through his sentences now, jumbling his words, made Dean’s heart hurt.

“Experimented? Who were they?” Dean encouraged gently, one hand soothing Castiel’s back, the other still cupping over Castiel’s tense hands, rubbing his knuckles.

“I am not sure. They definitely had connections at NASA, but I do not think they were part of the agency. Some other entity, though I suppose governmental. They were well funded, at least. That’s how it seemed.”

Dean nodded.

“The only person I recognized was the woman you sometimes spoke to at Ares Base, Dean—I recognized her voice.”

“Naomi?” Dean said, his voice thick with disbelief. However, as the name settled in his mind, he found it wasn’t that hard to believe after all. “Naomi has always been a bitch, I have to say. I don’t know how she ever got her position at NASA—she’s completely unpersonable.”

“She was giving orders when I was first brought in. They drove me somewhere else, to a bunker that was deep underground, and kept me there. I didn’t hear her voice again after that first day.”

“Do you know where they took you?”

“Not precisely. Usually I would be able to sense my position in the universe exactly, and I would have cross-referenced it to all the Earth maps I studied to name where I was, but they put me in some kind of—” Castiel’s voice quivered for a moment. “—some kind of box, I don’t know what it was, but it contained my usual abilities until they got me to the bunker. I know we went northwest from the landing site, but that’s about it. It was… very painful.”

Dean’s frown deepened, but he didn’t get to respond before Castiel continued.

“Even when I managed to escape, I was so disoriented and weakened, I could barely tell anything. I just hitch-hiked to Merritt Island, to where I could sense you.”

“It’s okay, Cas. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you did manage to escape,” Dean said. He bent his head down, seeking Castiel’s eyes. “And… you could sense me? What’s that about?”

Castiel gave a little smile. “We have a bond, Dean, you and I. As long as we’re in the same sort of area, I have an idea whether you’re nearby. It took me a few hours to pinpoint your exact location, but it wasn’t difficult.”

“A bond, huh?” Dean raised an eyebrow, grinning, happy to have seen even the smallest smile back on Castiel’s face.

“Indeed,” Castiel said solemnly. “A profound bond.”

Dean pressed his lips softly to Castiel’s forehead, allowing his eyes to drift closed for a moment. “I’m so glad you escaped, Cas. I feel awful that you were in trouble and I never knew.”

“That is nonsensical, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean shrugged his free shoulder. “But not everything is about sense. Sometimes you just want to protect the people you love.”

“Yes, I understand. I am glad you were not there for that, however. I would not have wanted you to see it or be endangered yourself, for much the same reasons.”

Dean brought a hand up to Castiel’s face, cupping his cheek and guiding his eyes back up to Dean’s own. He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, but failed spectacularly. “Did they hurt you, Cas? With their experiments?”

Castiel’s eyes dropped again, immediately. “Yes. I—I am embarrassed, honestly. They should not have been able to capture me. I was caught unawares, I didn’t realize your people would even have the knowledge to contain me, never mind… do what they did.”

“What did they do, Castiel?” Dean’s voice was low, and he just had to hope that the alien understood that his fury was directed elsewhere, because controlling it completely was out of the question.

He did seem to understand, smiling thankfully at Dean, even as he said, “My form is… mutilated, somewhat, from what it was. I’ll heal in time, though I don’t know how well. I am self-conscious about it.”

“Mutilated.” The word sat heavy and uncomfortable on Dean’s tongue.

“They were fascinated with my wings and tentacles,” Castiel explained, his gravelly voice flat and devoid of emotion. “My wings in particular. They took samples, and kept saying that I was not aerodynamic, that my existence with a body shaped like this defied explanation—as if their alien rules and concepts even apply to me.” He frowned.

“Samples.” The word tasted like ash on Dean’s tongue, and he desperately fought down the urge to hit something. “They tortured you because they didn’t understand you. That’s—that’s…” Dean trailed off, having no real words.

Castiel nodded, looking somewhat shy.

Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and focus on what mattered the most, right then. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, Cas. You survived, and we’re together again, and that’s all that matters to me. Will you show me what they did? Maybe I can—” Dean paused, suddenly aware that he’d have no idea how to help Castiel heal even if the alien let him. “—Maybe I can at least help you feel less self-conscious.”

Castiel regarded him quietly, his vivid blue eyes resting on Dean, unblinking. He nodded slowly before he spoke. “Of course. You should see. I won’t keep from you what they—what I now look like. That would be unfair.”

Dean frowned, but before he could question the alien’s words, Castiel was rising from the couch and stepping into the middle of the floor. He pushed Dean’s simple glass coffee table, still cluttered with toys for Jack, off to the side of the room.

He’s going to show me the damage to his true form, right now, Dean realized, sitting up on the couch and immediately willing away the hopeful chubby that even the thought of seeing those tentacles again brought about.

When Castiel was done moving the table, he turned to face Dean, standing tall in the middle of the rug. “Close your eyes, Dean,” he requested, softly.

Dean complied, not sure why it mattered, but willing to do whatever it took to put Castiel at ease.

A long, tense minute passed in silence.

“You can open your eyes now, Dean,” came Castiel’s voice; somehow even deeper and gravellier, like aged whiskey rolling across a rocky riverbed, jostling pebbles in its wake. It was sexy as hell, and Dean felt his lips involuntarily curling into a smile at the sound.

He opened his eyes, and his smile fell.

“Dean?” Castiel asked very quietly after an uncomfortable moment. “Is it so very bad? I haven’t been able to see my reflection, so I don’t know the full extent of—”

“It’s fine, Cas, you’re fine,” Dean forced out, desperately. Shamelessly, tears prickled at his eyes.

It was the furthest thing from fine.

The alien was still huge and his bright blue eyes, like massive constellations, were still his most immediately striking feature. But beyond them, the rest of his body—as black as the space between stars—truly had been mutilated.

Castiel’s ebony flesh was scarred, cuts running across its surface in lighter, thick lines. His tentacles, not that Dean had ever counted them, looked to be fewer in number; when Dean forced his eyes to search, he saw a couple of badly cauterized stumps.

But his wings… oh his wings. Dean remembered them, up on Mars, full and dark, almost touching the ceiling of the base. They were horrifically diminished, now. Huge rips let Dean see the bookshelf on the other side of the room. Jagged spaces across the arches revealed the stark white of what looked like bone; gouged and painful looking, the bare chunks of wing stark against the soft-looking darkness of what remained.

“Dean?” Castiel asked again, his usually expressionless, alien face full of concern. “I can change back, you don’t have to—”

“No, no—” Dean stepped up to him quickly, swallowing harshly. He reached out cautiously toward one of Castiel’s wings, his feet nestled between the tentacles which quickly came up to embrace him. “Do they still hurt, Cas? Your wings? The tentacles they removed?”

Castiel didn’t flinch from Dean’s touch. Instead, he crouched down to his level and hugged him within his tentacles, seeming relieved that Dean would even want to approach. “They don’t hurt too much, now. But at first, when they—” He stopped sharply, still struggling. “Sometimes I remember how it felt. That isn’t nice.”

Dean let his fingers dance soothingly across one of the white, bone patches that now made up the majority of Castiel’s once magnificent wingspan. “I’m so sorry, Cas,” he whispered, finding his own eyes full of tears again in sympathy. “God, this is—I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you have to remember that.”

Castiel seemed to be slowly relaxing under Dean’s touch. “That feels… pleasant,” he said, relief in his voice. “I was worried that touching them would always feel like… like it did when they touched them.”

“How did it feel?” Dean asked gently, carefully wrapping his hand over the arch of Castiel’s wing, the bone beneath his hand easily thicker than a human thigh bone. He could feel the cuts in it under his palm.

“Like they were on fire,” Castiel said, emotionless.

Dean stretched up on his tiptoes. Castiel eyed him, looking down as Dean reached up to the top of his arch, pressing his lips to the bare stretch of wing. Dean looked right back at him, almost a challenge.

“You’ll heal, Cas,” Dean soothed, though he didn’t know anything of the sort for sure. “And even if you don’t—if nothing grows back. I still think you’re amazing.”

A strange noise, somewhere between a chirp and a purr, reverberated from Castiel’s chest. “Thank you, Dean,” he said. “I was afraid that even if you had accepted our differences before, you might not now that I look like this. I’m still… unsure.”

“Oh, Cas,” Dean said gently. He held out a hand toward one of Castiel’s tentacles. “How about this—I had an exhausting day, today. You’re still recovering and feeling insecure about it, and that makes sense. So how about we go to bed and show you how little difference this makes, huh?”

Dean smiled widely, hoping to remind the alien of his feelings as best he could in other ways, as words didn’t seem to be doing the trick.

Castiel seemed unsure, curling his heavy, damp-feeling tentacle into Dean’s hand, but not moving yet.

The sensation of Castiel’s skin, like soft, damp velvet, sent a delighted shiver through Dean’s arm, renewing his grin.

“Come on,” he coaxed softly. “I want to help my mate feel better.”

Seeming like he perhaps understood, Castiel nodded. “As you wish, Dean.”

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Dean was fascinated by the way Castiel entered the bedroom behind him. He had to duck down to get his head under the doorframe, but his wings folded across his back and revealed another joint further down that Dean hadn’t noticed, allowing them to tilt back and to the sides. With his wings shifted, he glided through the doorway silently, the strange rippling of his tentacles almost mesmerizing as they carried him across the carpet.

Just looking at the tentacles was slightly arousing for Dean, bringing back memories of his time with Castiel up on Ares Base; but he did his best to push that down, for now. This wasn’t about that, wasn’t about him. (Though if it ended up being about that, Dean was definitely down.)

One of Castiel’s tentacles was still resting in Dean’s grip. Castiel had hands in this form, but he seemed to prefer to use the tentacles for most things. They were, Dean guessed, probably very useful appendages.

Plus, they felt hella good against the skin…

Okay, Dean. He mentally reined himself in. Another day.

Dean smiled as he let go of Castiel so that he could begin unbuttoning his white work shirt. He nodded to the bed. “Why don’t you lay down, Cas. I want to try something, if it’s okay with you?”

“Try what?” Castiel asked curiously, his unbelievably deep other voice reverberating around the room. He moved forward, climbing up onto the bed in a movement that Dean could only describe as his lower body slithering onto the mattress .

“Lay on your front,” Dean suggested, unbuckling his pants. He didn’t intend anything about this to be particularly sexual, but he was going to be comfortable regardless.

When he was down to his boxers, Dean looked over at the bed. He had a huge, king-sized bed, but Castiel still took up the bulk of it. He lay on his front with his hands under his face on the pillows, his tentacles cascading off the end of the bed onto the floor. He had his eyes open, looking back at Dean curiously, if nervously; Dean noticed he had his wings pulled up tight to his back, like was trying to hide them, or at least minimize them.

“Cas,” Dean said very gently, sliding onto the edge of the mattress next to him. He moved up to the alien’s side, near what Dean supposed would be his hip—the point where his tentacles began and his torso ended, anyway. “Please don’t hide from me. I know you’re hurt, and you don’t feel like yourself anymore. I just wanna help you feel accepted anyway, okay? But you gotta relax. You gotta trust me.”

Castiel watched Dean with his huge, intense eyes as he spoke. Far, far bigger than human eyes, they took up a large portion of his face and gave the only clues to his feelings. His dark face was bony and alien-looking, and it was difficult for Dean to detect any emotion on it at all. But Castiel’s eyes and his voice—and the position of his wings, Dean was noticing more and more—still gave him away.

“Don’t be nervous.” Dean said again. He reached out slowly, resting his hand under the wings, instead of on top, his palm flat on the base of Castiel’s back.

Castiel nodded against the pillow, the fabric shushing against him. As Dean’s hand slipped across his skin, he gave a little sigh. Turning his face into the bed for a moment, Castiel relaxed his wings. They spread out across the bed like black, broken sails, one pouring over Dean’s lap and onward, both of them brushing the carpet either side of the bed.

“That’s it, Cas,” Dean said encouragingly.

Slowly, with just one hand at first, Dean reached out and began carefully stroking the wings. He used the lightest touches he could manage to start with; softly stroking his fingers across what remained, but not shying away from the damaged parts.

“Let me know if anything hurts, okay?” Dean said. “I just want to see, to touch you how you are now. Okay?”

There was the fabric-y sound of a nod between the two sets of pillows, Castiel’s head sinking down between them, but there wasn’t much movement.

So, Dean continued, trailing his hands over the arches of the wings, stopping to let the pads of his fingers rest on the exposed bones; accepting them, rather than avoiding them. He could see the muscles of Castiel’s back slowly relaxing.

After a few minutes of Deans very cautious ministrations, Castiel let out a low, relieved sigh. After another couple of moments, he pulled his head back up, rearranging the pillows so that he could lay on his cheek once again, and look back and up at Dean. His head didn’t quite fit the pillow, but that was okay.

“Is this alright?” Dean asked quietly, reaching across Castiel with his other hand so that he could reach the other wing, petting both simultaneously.

“More than alright. It feels wonderful.”

Dean smiled and continued, more confidently. Once Castiel let out another content-sounding sigh, Dean shuffled up onto his knees on the mattress. Being careful and slow in case Castiel wanted to object, Dean swung one leg over the alien’s back, straddling him right before his tentacles began. He could reach further then, extending his arms right up to reach the tops of the wings, and stroking back down toward the tips.

Castiel made a strange noise, like he had earlier; a deeply contented purring, chirping sound. As Dean massaged more firmly, his tentacles began shifting behind Dean, writhing slowly across the bed and carpet.

“Still good?” Dean asked, watching Castiel’s reactions as he ran his fingers up the alien’s spine, pressing into the root of the wings where they joined his back.

“Yes—” Castiel pushed his head down into the pillow with a deeper purr, his tentacles shifting faster. “—Especially there, Dean, that area is—”

Dean grinned as Castiel cut off, gasping. He leaned forward, working firmly at the base of the wings with his thumbs. He stretched up as far as he could reach, so that he could press his lips to the bare stretches of bone that were closest, covering the damaged wings in gentle kisses.

“You like that, Cas?” Dean whispered against Castiel’s wing, trying to pay attention to which motions the alien responded to best, so that he could provide a carefully curated selection. Whatever he could do to make Castiel feel better, he decided he would do, backtracking on his earlier decision to keep his attempts mostly non-sexual. Whatever made Castiel feel loved and wanted, he was more than happy to provide.

“Yes, very much…” Castiel hissed into the pillow, his hips bucking so hard they almost threw Dean off. His tentacles whipped back and forth in time with Dean’s pressing fingers, and his spine began to arch beneath Dean’s thighs.

“See, Cas,” Dean said, pressing his lips down into the space between the base of Castiel’s wings, kissing into his spine. “Nothing has changed. You’re still you. I still care about you, I still want you. When you look like a stock photo of an accountant… and like this.”

Dean’s playful, wolfish grin was hidden from Castiel, but the alien seemed to pick up on his teasing tone; he twitched his hips again, hard, raising them in the air and holding them there. The motion caused Dean to tip forward and slide a few inches further down Castiel’s back, bringing his head to Castiel’s neck level.

The alien turned, his fantastical blue gaze directly onto Dean, craning his neck to see him. “Will you mate with me, Dean? Like this? I know you enjoy my tentacles on your body, and I am happy to provide that whenever you wish, but I—”

“Hey,” Dean interrupted, tilting his head down to catch the side of Castiel’s face with his lips and kiss a path down to his neck. “Whatever you need. This is about you, Cas—your biology is kind of a mystery to me, but feel free to educate me. Educate me real hard. ”

Dean waggled his eyebrows energetically, and he felt Castiel’s chest shudder with a brief chuckle below him.

“I detect your innuendo, Dean, but I am concerned for human schooling practices. Nonetheless, by all means, please back up so I can educate you.” Castiel said dryly, though there was still an edge of heat to his tone.

As he moved back, lifting one knee back over Castiel so that he was no longer straddling him, but sitting on the mattress below the wing once more, Dean couldn’t help but give a few more firm, rolling strokes to the base of Castiel’s wings.

The alien let out an incredibly satisfying, shuddering whine, and Dean grinned.

“I guess our schooling practices aren’t that bad, I pick things up pretty fast.”

“Your touch on my wings, even in their current state, particularly there…” Castiel pushed up on the bed with his hands, moving a few of the tentacles at the front of his body so that he was practically kneeling. “It’s very arousing, to me. I haven’t been touched like that before, but I like it very much.”

“Noted,” Dean said, shifting to the side. He was extremely glad that Castiel seemed more than happy to move things in this direction, because watching the way that he moved and listening to the sounds that he made was causing Dean’s underwear to feel a lot tighter than he usually enjoyed.

Reaching down, Dean slowly palmed himself through his boxer-briefs, letting his breath out gradually, watching Castiel’s movement the whole time.

Castiel looked back over his shoulder at Dean, still kneeling. He watched him right back, his blue eyes fixed unerringly on Dean’s hand. He left his wings stretched out, though they were straighter now, as if he was using them for balance. “I am glad that the differences between our species are not…off-putting, for you,” Castiel said, almost calmly observational in tone, until the slight hitch at the end of his words when Dean slid his hand into his boxers.

“Definitely not off-putting,” Dean confirmed, giving himself a couple of slow pumps within his underwear as his eyes drifted across Castiel’s hulking, dark form. The soft, highly-mobile tentacles, so strong to the touch, caught his attention, and he couldn’t help but stare. “I always, uh—well, not all humans find the same stuff attractive. But damn, Cas… I got no complaints. You’re sexy as hell to me.”

The alien didn’t really smile, his angular face almost frozen, but his eyes roamed Dean with obvious pleasure.

“Why don’t you explain to me how things work for you?” Dean suggested, shuffling backward on his knees until he was off the mattress, so that he could step out of his constricting boxers. A damp patch was already becoming visible where the head of his co*ck sat. He had no idea what to expect—or if the two of them would even fit in this form—but if even trying it out involved the feeling of those tentacles gliding across his skin, then—

“I think this should be fairly self-explanatory.” Castiel’s bony alien face didn’t offer so much as a smirk, but Dean could hear it in his voice, teasing Dean back a little, just as Dean always did to him.

The alien was still kneeling on the bed, with what Dean supposed he would have to categorize as his butt in the air. He leaned on his hands, his ruined wings twitching almost eagerly against the edge of the mattress, his tentacles writhing—Oh. Dean stepped backwards, moving down the side of the bed toward the end, his own hand still squeezing almost helplessly at the head of his co*ck, just a little pressure, at little tightness. Castiel’s tentacles weren’t just writhing, they were parting. Like a black, wriggling curtain, the appendages that weren’t helping him kneel on the bed moved to each side, revealing the softer, lighter flesh of the underside of his body.

Like a can-can dancer lifting her skirts, the movement revealed the answers to Dean’s wonderings over whether their bodies would even be compatible. Amidst the paler, almost purple tinged flesh, Castiel presented a dripping slit that Dean knew exactly what to do with.

f*ck , he thought. I’m really about to do this… hell yeah.

Castiel turned his face, looking back over his wings at Dean as he kneeled up onto the bed. The tentacles undulated on either side of Dean as he positioned himself, causing a delighted shiver to run through him.

“I trust you know what to do with that,” Castiel said, breaking the silence Dean hadn’t been aware of. His lower half twitched, a movement not unlike a human rolling their hips, and the shiny opening flared slightly, as if it was almost begging Dean to come closer.

Dean reached out, cautiously trailing his fingers over it. It was warm, and damp, and he could feel strong muscles rippling under his touch. Holy sh*t, yes.

“Yeah,” Dean choked out, his mouth suddenly dry. Realizing he was staring, he dragged his eyes back up to Castiel’s own. “I can definitely work out what to do with that. But you need to let me know what feels good and what doesn’t, I’m not gonna know.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to tell,” Castiel suggested, his deep voice growing impossibly deeper as Dean’s fingers continued their exploration.

“So,” Dean said almost nonchalantly as he grew braver, slipping one finger past the opening and into the wet heat within. “Does this make you technically male, or female? How is that designated for you? Or like, do you even have—”

Castiel pushed back against Dean’s finger, cutting off his words, but answering him anyway. “No such thing. We are, by your biological standards, a hermaphroditic species.”

Dean looked on almost helplessly as Castiel effectively f*cked himself back into Dean’s hand. “Oh. Wonderful.”

“You have—” Castiel gave a little pant. “—no idea what that means, do you.”

“Yes, I do. Now, stop using big words when I’m about to f*ck you,” Dean grumbled.

“Get on with it then.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. The way that Castiel’s hole—or whatever the f*ck that part was called—fluttered damply around his fingers was giving him all the encouragement he needed. It oozed some kind of lubrication that just had to be a good sign, and Dean was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to find out what it tasted like.

Castiel had used his own lubrication the first time they’d had sex on Mars, in Castiel’s human form, and Dean hadn’t had any adverse effect from it; so he didn’t think on it any further, ducking his head down to slide his tongue flat across Castiel’s soaked slit.

“Dean!” Castiel’s body jerked wildly, the tentacles that trembled either side of Dean suddenly clamping in tight.

The feel of their silken tightness around him made Dean groan out loud, his breath vibrating against Castiel as he dipped his tongue inside of the alien, getting a better taste of the surprisingly sweet fluid.

Castiel threw his head back, arching his spine, his wings beating through the air beside him, causing every loose object Dean had in the bedroom to rustle and rattle in the breeze. “Oh—” he gasped out, his deep rumble broken and needy. “More, Dean.”

The alien was commanding and gravelly and f*ck if Dean didn’t love it. So of course Dean did exactly what he asked; he f*cked into him with his tongue, pushing it within Castiel and flattening it out, stretching the rippling muscles of the hole. Dean’s chin dripped with saliva and whatever it was that passed for Castiel’s natural lubrication, the sweet taste pooling in his mouth and flooding his senses; he smelled like sugar and wine, and Dean buried his face down between the tentacles shamelessly, moaning against him. “Jesus, Cas, you taste like f*cking heaven… ”

“Stop talking! More!”

Dean ignored the fact that his tongue was getting tired, only caring that Castiel wanted this, and he wanted this. The fact that an alien was riding his tongue like a pro was making him so hard between his legs that his dick hurt every time he shifted, and suddenly that was the only thing in the world that f*cking mattered.

“Dean,” Castiel said, his tentacles quivering as he looked back at Dean. His wings tensed briefly at his sides. “Why did you stop? Are you okay? Is this—”

Dean placed a reassuring hand on the small of Castiel’s back, just above where his tentacles began. “It’s fine, more than fine. I’m enjoying it, too. My tongue just got tired,” he said, laughing.

Castiel seemed relieved, his wings relaxing once more.

Shifting on the mattress just a little to relieve his knees, Dean placed his feet down on the floor. He reached over to press at Castiel’s sides; the alien was wider and taller than Dean, but allowed himself to be guided easily by Dean’s gentle pressure, until he was at the very edge of the mattress, lined up to Dean.

Dean hesitated, the red, needy tip of his co*ck resting against Castiel.

“Mate,” Castiel practically purred, sonorous and inviting. “Fill me, please. I want to feel you inside me—”

Dean slid in, eyes closed, hesitation gone.

They both cried out in unison; Castiel in a language that Dean couldn’t make head nor tails of, a string of rough, consonant sounds and short, clipped words, and Dean a string of low cusses that would make a biker call his mama.

Dean was frozen, his eyes squeezed tight shut, taking a moment to get his sh*t together and think about completely un-erotic things, like laundry and sharing a car with Sam after he’d had Mexican food.

“Dean?” Castiel sounded utterly wrecked.

“Fine. Good. So, so good. Just, uh… gimme a few seconds.”

“I’m not sure I have a few seconds, Dean,” Castiel responded, sounding delirious. “Your penis is very pleasing to me.”

Dean didn’t even have enough brainpower left to laugh. He desperately tried to find two braincells that would cooperate long enough to make a spark. How do I tell him this is the best sex of my life and I haven’t even moved yet, without actually saying that?

“This is the best sex I’ve ever had, and I haven’t even moved yet,” Dean said. sh*t. Embarrassing.

“I’d rather you moved, Dean. I really need you to move.” Castiel’s voice, rather than being higher, seemed to be ever-more-impossibly lower, and God, did it do things to Dean.

Obediently, Dean pulled back, still holding onto Castiel’s sides, and pushed back in, setting a slow, deep pace. He could feel tentacles wrapping around him, pulling him in closer to Castiel, slithering over his skin and suckling softly at him. Looking down as he thrust back and forth, admiring the sight, Dean saw trails of red, hickey-like sucker marks beginning to bloom on his skin. It was such a fantastical, unbelievable, erotic sight that Dean couldn’t help but pick up his pace.

Castiel was letting out such delicious noises; totally shameless, he huffed and groaned and cried out, desperate and depraved in a way Dean had never heard him, not even when they had sex before. He was wild like this, hungry and amazing to watch.

Dean’s thighs ached, but he was lost in the warm, tight feeling that was building up in his core, piling up closer to the edge with every wanton cry Castiel let out. The alien felt so tight. He was utterly dripping, and Dean snapped in and out of him with no resistance, just soft, velvety perfection. He was much hotter than any human Dean had f*cked of any gender, the heat building to be almost unbearable, until he almost—

“Cas,” Dean managed to say, before correcting himself, remembering how much Castiel liked it. “ Mate .”

“Come, mate,” Castiel said, broken. “I want you, I want—”

Whatever Castiel wanted was lost as he keened out, shuddering around Dean so tightly that he practically squeezed Dean’s org*sm from him, thick and forceful. Dean could feel the hot jets of come pumping out of him, slicking Castiel’s insides even further.

He slumped down across Castiel’s lower back, tentacles all around, a wing each side of his shoulders as Castiel folded them in suddenly, like sharp reflex he couldn’t control.

The lights in Dean’s apartment flashed, but he couldn’t even spare a thought to worry about it, boneless and beautifully spent.

Dean closed his eyes and he felt Castiel shifting below him, the tentacles releasing as Dean was lowered to the mattress. The alien slid out from under him, but reappeared after only a moment with a towel, human-shaped and wide-eyed.

“Here,” he offered quietly, reaching to Dean’s shoulders to encourage him up to the other end of the bed, where the pillows were. “I thought you might like to clean my secretions off.”

Dean was coated in the clear, sweet lubrication—he was just fine calling it lubrication, thanks—and he took the towel gratefully. He was starting to feel a little sticky as the buzz left his head, and it probably wouldn’t be pleasant much longer, he thought.

“Was that alright, Cas?” Dean asked, laying on his back and spreading his legs to wipe his inner thighs. Smirking, he added, “Was my penis pleasing enough?”

“You’re making fun of me, I can tell, but it certainly was.”

“Good,” Dean said, tossing the towel carelessly down beside the bed. He rolled onto his side, reaching across to wrap his upper arm around Castiel and tug him close. “Very good, because I want you to remember that, when you feel upset about your wings, Cas. I love you, and I want you, just the way you are.”

“I love you too, Dean.” Castiel’s pink, dry lips pulled back into a dazzling, gummy smile, and it melted the last semblance of decorum Dean had.

He squeezed Castiel tight, nuzzling in under Castiel’s neck with a yawn. “I’m all f*cked out. Naptime.”

Castiel chuckled softly, deep and throaty. “I’m exceptionally tired also, for some reason. A nap sounds good.”

~~***~~

They slept for about two hours, before Dean awoke to his stomach telling him he’d eaten no dinner and Charlie had thrown most of his lunch away.

“Date night,” he announced firmly, rooting through his closet to find a shirt that was dressy enough for the evening but didn’t have a NASA emblem somewhere on it. He turned, and Castiel was already back in his usual attire, complete with trench coat and depressingly sensible shoes. He smiled fondly, not even bothering to question how the alien got dressed so fast. “I guess you’re going backwards-tie formal.”

Castiel looked down, eyeing the tie. “It is backwards, isn’t it,” he observed.

Dean smiled, looping a burgundy shirt over his arm before stepping up to Castiel and turning over the tie. He fussed fondly with the alien’s collar buttons before tightening the navy knot, and smoothing it over his chest. “I like fixing it,” he confessed. “I know that’s weird. But it’s just a little thing I can help you with.”

“Dean,” Castiel said tenderly, catching his hands. “You help me with many things. I have learned much about Earth, but without the context you give things, I’d be lost. I was very lonely on Mars, you know.”

Dean frowned, but Castiel continued softly.

“If you had arrived, and we had been friends, I would have been very happy, Dean. But instead you arrived and…” He gestured between them, lowering his blue eyes almost shyly for a second, resting them on their joined hands at his chest. “I got more than I had ever hoped to find. So thank you, Dean. You look after me, in your way, and teach me many things. And you love me, which is more extraordinary than I can say.”

Finding himself utterly stunned by the alien’s little speech, more words that Dean had ever heard him say unprompted, Dean wrapped his arms around him and pulled their foreheads together, smiling helplessly. “God, I love you so much. Thank you, Cas, for whatever made you think my dumb ass was worth it,” he said, grinning.

“You’re not dumb.” Castiel pushed lightly, playfully, against Dean’s chest. “I’ve told you that. For a human, you are very smart.”

“For a human.”

“Shut up and fix my tie.”

Dean laughed, neatening up the knot before he stepped back to put his own shirt on. “I’m glad you can talk to me now, Cas. You’re funny.”

Castiel smirked slightly, standing off to the side near the end of the bed while Dean dressed. “I’m glad you think I’m funny, because most likely anything that I would consider to be a deliberate joke would not translate very well.”

“Translate?” Dean asked thoughtfully, pulling on his nicest jeans and making his way to the front door, where his boots waited. “Oh, right, of course—you don’t speak English normally, obviously. What is your language like? Hell, Cas, I don’t even know what your species is called.”

They made their way down to Dean’s Impala, hand-in-hand, Castiel talking very quietly, almost shyly, about his kind.

“As a people, we refer to ourselves as the Enoch. Our language, Enochian, is very different to your own. It would not sound pleasant to you, I don’t think.”

“Try me,” Dean said, opening the car door for Castiel and gesturing him inside.

“ Veerahgeh-Ah Buhteh-moh neh Leh, veet moh nehgeh . ”

What came out of Castiel’s mouth seemed to be missing a few important things, Dean thought. Like proper vowels and consonants, and rhythm, and anything his tongue could do.

Dean blinked.

“It’s funnier in Enochian,” Castiel grumbled morosely.

“Well, okay then.” Dean chuckled as he took his own seat and keyed the engine to life. “I’m sorry I don’t know much about you. Haven’t really got access to Enoch-Internet like you did for me.”

Castiel’s shoulders came up in a shrug as he carefully studied Dean’s use of the seatbelt, copying him slowly. “It wouldn’t matter, Dean. My species is dead. I’m likely the last in the universe.”

Dean’s hands froze against the steering wheel. “So, when you told me you were alone, on Mars…”

“Yes,” Castiel said quietly, understanding. “I didn’t mean just on Mars. I’ve been alone for many, many thousands of years.”

“What happened?”

Castiel pursed his lips for a moment, looking down at his lap, before he brought his eyes back up to Dean. “From my research, I believe that date nights are supposed to be happy events. Why don’t we leave that for another time?”

Dean recognized a stop sign when he saw one. He nodded immediately, reaching across the leather seat to entwine his fingers with the alien’s. “Sure thing, Cas. I wanna know everything about you—but in your own time, okay?”

“You already know some things about me,” Castiel soothed quietly. “It’s surprising what you can pick up.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully, resting the heels of his hands on Baby’s steering wheel for a moment as he considered. “Well, I know that you can fly through space, without a spacesuit. That’s pretty badass.”

Castiel blinked. “It is?”

“Hell yeah. Do you know what happens to a flimsy, squishy human like me if I go out into space without a suit, Cas?”

The alien tilted his head curiously “I have never considered specifically, but my studies of your biology would indicate that it would be a poor environment for you.”

“Poor doesn’t cut it.” Dean laughed, grinning over at Castiel. “So, the dark parts of space, anything in shadow, sit at around one hundred and seventy kelvins, close to Earth. The parts that the sun hits, the radiation raises to around four hundred kelvins, almost instantly. So, any human without a suit is going to get simultaneously burned to a crisp and frozen solid, at the same time, on different sides of their body. And that’s not even mentioning that the air would be instantly sucked out of them until their lungs were literally the thickness of a piece of paper.”

Castiel stared at Dean in concern. “That seems very inconvenient, given your profession, Dean.”

Keying the Impala to life with a grin, Dean chuckled. “I like spacewalking, but it’s not without its risks, I suppose.”

The alien nodded, still frowning.

Dean reached across to retwine his fingers with Castiel’s. “Not something to worry about for now, anyway. I’m grounded for now and with NASA acting suspicious, the only craft we’ll be worried about is this old Impala of mine,” he said, honking her horn affectionately.

“Where are we going, in this pretty vehicle?” Castiel asked, smiling and squeezing Dean’s hand gratefully as he changed the subject.

Baby let out a throaty purr as Dean grinned proudly and pulled her onto the main road, one-handed, as if she approved of Castiel. The silly thought warmed him a little, as he knew that getting anyone else in his life to accept and approve of Castiel might be a little more troublesome.

Hey, I’m in love with a twelve-foot tentacle alien and I kinda wanna keep him forever and be a little extra-terrestrial family… probably gonna cause chaos at Thanksgiving with that one, Dean thought.

“We’re going to the Roadhouse,” Dean said, dragging his attention back to Castiel from his wonderings. “Best bar in town. Good burgers, nice atmosphere. Very relaxed. My friends and family hang out there a lot, I know the owners.”

From his periphery, Dean could see Castiel tilting his head to the side, his big blue eyes resting on Dean’s profile as they drove.

“Your friends and family go to this place?” Castiel said carefully, an odd nonchalance to his words.

It took Dean a moment to work out what Castiel was clarifying.

“They do, yeah. It’ll just be you and me tonight, but I fully intend to have you meet everyone that is important to me, Cas.” Dean pulled up at a stop light, taking a moment to reach over and press a smiling kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “Depending on who it is, we might not mention the tentacle part just for your own safety. But I’m not going to hide you, Cas. The people I love most, I want them to know the truth.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Castiel’s eyes remained on the road ahead, but there was a tiny shake to his voice that made Dean’s heart thump uncomfortably.

“I’ll keep you safe, Cas. I promise,” Dean said, a little more passionately than he intended. If his fingers squeezed Castiel’s hand a little tighter, too, they didn’t mention it.

Dean guided the Impala around the back of the Roadhouse, the last couple of minutes of their journey silent. He cut the engine and hopped out, moving around to the other side of the car to open Castiel’s door with a flourish. The alien had never been on a date before, Dean figured, so damnit, he was gonna do his best to do this right.

Holding hands, they walked toward the back, staff entrance of the bar. Dean had known the owner, Ellen Harvelle, for many years—she was a very old friend of his Uncle Bobby’s, and visitingEllen and her family here when Dean was a kid had been what first put the idea of working for NASA into tiny Dean’s head.

Before he pushed open the door, Dean stopped, using their linked hands to pull Castiel gently towards him. Claiming a slow, soft kiss before he took Castiel into the building, Dean smiled across at the gorgeous man that Castiel appeared as.

I wonder if we’ll ever run into his doppelganger around here, Dean wondered suddenly. That would be awkward as hell.

Dean had almost forgotten until then, that somewhere in Merritt Island there was another six-foot, dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes and an enticing smile, married and with at least one kid. He’d run into the man and his family at Gabriel’s bakery, Trick or Sweet, previously; he wondered if Gabriel knew who he was.

“I would understand if you did not wish for me to meet your family and friends Dean, really.” Castiel said suddenly, as Dean opened the door. “I mean it. I would not wish to make your life difficult.”

“But I want them to meet you, Cas. You’re everything to me,” Dean said firmly, a little plan already forming in his mind for how he’d make the alien feel more welcome.

For now, introducing Castiel to double-stacked bacon cheeseburgers, Ellen’s amazing from-scratch fries, and a few beers, plus the rickety pool table and the carefully-curated old jukebox, would hopefully be enough of a distraction for the evening.

You’re family, Cas, Dean thought. I’ll help you understand what that means, somehow.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

On Thursday evening, there was a knock on the apartment door.

Dean was in the kitchen with Castiel, clearing away the dishes that had built up over the last couple of days; mostly just the alien’s endless coffee mugs and a couple of plates of Dean’s. He washed while Castiel dried. Dean was enjoying having someone to come home to and bitch about work with, and he’d suggested they have a quiet night at home after their first official date the previous day.

Dean had been incredibly paranoid at work. He was busy keeping his head down and being so very carefully “business as usual” while Charlie used their spots inside the agency to gather more info about the Ares mission. He wanted so badly to think the best of NASA and not jump to crazy Gabriel-esque assumptions, when this could be one or two plants in the hierarchy just as easily as it could be NASA sanctioned. He wanted to believe in them. He always had, he'd been their biggest supporter against nut jobs like his brother-in-law. But now... now he was afraid, but had to keep his position in a terrifying holding pattern to get more information. It was exhausting, and it was a huge relief to do something as normal as clean the kitchen up with his alien lover.

The knock at the door took Castiel by surprise. He jumped slightly, looking over at Dean with wide eyes.

“Hey, I’m all bubbly,” Dean said, raising his arms to indicate the dish soap. “Can you get that?”

Castiel looked nervous for a moment, but nodded, dropping the thin towel down onto the counter and smoothing out his trench coat. He looked down, as if he was quickly checking that he looked suitably human—it wouldn’t end too well if he opened the door to Dean’s neighbors with rogue tentacles emerging from beneath his trenchcoat.

Dean smiled secretly down into the sink, adding nonchalantly, “Go ahead, Cas. It’s probably just old Mr. Armstrong from down the hall, lost his damn cat again or something.”

“As you wish, Dean.”

As soon as Castiel had stepped out of the kitchen, Dean hastily flicked the water off his hands. He grabbed the towel that Castiel had left, scrubbing his hands dry, and stepped after him as quietly as he could, hovering in the kitchen doorway to watch Castiel admit their guests.

No way was he going to miss this.

Dean held his breath as Castiel pulled the door open. He’d been waiting nervously all evening for this, trying his best not to give anything away.

“Hey, you must be Castiel. I’m Sam.”

A fat, shocked silence hung in the air, before his brother's warm, nervous voice came again from out in the hallway.

“I’m Dean’s brother. This is Gabriel, my husband, and little Jack—Dean told you we were coming, right?”

Dean craned his head out of the kitchen so he could see Castiel’s expressions. He looked stunned, blinking slowly. He turned and gazed back over his shoulder, seeing Dean hovering in the kitchen doorway and giving him a little look that was half you did this for me, Dean? and half you will pay for this later, Dean.

“No, he actually did not…”

Dean heard a low chuckle from Gabriel. “Don’t worry Cas, you weren’t the only one in the dark until literally this afternoon,” he said very pointedly.

Castiel stepped aside, looking shy and overwhelmed. “Apologies, please, come in.”

Dean had called Sam during his lunch break that day and had a very frank, awkward conversation, half of which he had no doubt Sam wished he could forget. While he’d already told Sam about meeting Castiel on Mars when he’d first come home—he’d had to tell someone, he was going crazy keeping it in—Sam had struggled to get his head around it. He’d supported Dean as best he could, but he mostly avoided the subject of the alien at all. He tried to believe Dean, that much was clear, but who could really believe something like that until they were faced with it? So, over the phone, Dean had given Sam every detail of Castiel’s arrival and the few days since. He probably should have skipped some of it… but hey, if Sam was busy being grossed out by the thought of Dean f*cking an alien, at least he wasn’t focusing on the fact that aliens themselves existed, right?

Sam had, of course, just as Dean had hoped, immediately insisted that he wanted to come and meet Castiel. That had really been Dean’s plan all along; to get the rest of the Winchester family over here and prove to Castiel that he was proud of him and didn’t intend to hide him here. Also, at least a little, to remind him that not all humans were like the ones who had tortured him.

As he’d been leaving work, he’d received a text from Sam telling him that he’d spoken to Gabriel—who had been absolutely wild with excitement—and they would bring Jack over after dinner.

And there they were, all standing awkwardly in the middle of Dean’s living room, staring at each other.

Gabriel was squinting firmly at Castiel. “You look oddly familiar.”

Dean threw his hand towel aside and strode across the apartment, waving his hands to usher Sam and Gabriel towards the couch. He had explained to Sam exactly what Castiel really looked like, and the fact that their minds were just tricked into seeing and feeling Jimmy-the-Pie-Guy instead, but he wasn’t sure how much Sam had told Gabe.

Little Jack wandered quietly into the living room with them, dragging his worn blanket behind him. He took it everywhere and it got fairly gross, but whatever comfort item helped their recently adopted little boy feel safe and content, Sam and Gabriel were willing to put up with.

Dean bent down and scooped up his four-year-old nephew, hoisting the blond, blue-eyed little guy up to his hip, blanket and all.

“Hey, Jack-Jack,” Dean grinned.

“Uncle Bean,” Jack intoned solemnly, laying his head against Dean’s shoulder. He pointed to Castiel, a silent question.

“This is Cas, Jack,” Dean said, walking around the coffee table to stand in front of Castiel. “I wanted him to meet you, because I love you both very much and I would like you to be friends.”

Even now that he could speak, Castiel was fairly quiet, even more so when he was nervous. He regarded Jack with huge, wide-open blue eyes, his hands knotting frantically in front of his chest. He nodded silently to the little boy, giving him a shy smile.

“Sometimes Cas doesn’t talk a lot, like you,” Dean explained, smiling down at Jack.

Jack squinted suspiciously at Castiel, then nodded.

“Can you say hello, Jack?” Sam coaxed from the couch, where he and Gabriel watched the exchange intently.

Jack parted his lips, but then squeezed them back tight together and shook his head, burying his face in Dean’s shoulder.

Dean rubbed Jack’s back soothingly. “That’s okay, Jack. Cas is going to be here with me all the time now, so you can say hello whenever you feel like you can, okay?”

“Don’t worry, kid,” Gabriel said, kicking off his shoes and crossing his legs up under himself on the couch like he was settling himself in for a long session. “I have tons of things I want to say to your uncle’s boyfriend, enough for the both of us! So many questions!”

Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but Gabriel was unperturbed.

“Daddy wants to ask him about the dark side of the moon, and UFO landings, and crop circles, and chem trails!”

Castiel squinted in confusion, and Sam covered his face with his hands in embarrassment.

“Gabriel!” he admonished. “You promised you’d be good…”

Dean lowered Jack to the floor over near his toybox under the window, then nodded toward the kitchen. “Come on, Cas, why don’t you help me grab some snacks for everybody?”

Castiel nodded gratefully and followed Dean quickly into the kitchen. “Dean,” he said quietly as soon as they were alone. “What are chem trails? And why does your brother-in-law wish me to explain them?”

“Who even knows, Cas.” Dean laughed. “He’s a conspiracy nut-job. Just ignore half of what comes out of his mouth; we all do. He makes good cakes, though, and under the dopey expression he’s got a heart of gold.”

Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes flickering nervously from Dean to the kitchen door and back again. “Your brother and his husband, they… they know I’m not like them?”

Dean nodded. He shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling a little self-conscious himself, all of a sudden. “They know what you are, and how we met. They know everything. I’m sorry Cas, I know that should have been your decision, but I just wanted to show you that not everyone is like Naomi, or whoever else. And I’m not ashamed of what you are. People need to give you a chance to show them who you really are.”

Castiel stepped up closer to Dean, his face only a few inches away as he tilted it thoughtfully. A flush crept over his cheeks, and a smile slowly lit his face, as if he was finally understanding Dean. “You are proud of me,” he said, slow and amazed. “You wish to reassure me, and you are pleased that I am your mate, so you wish to be able to tell others.”

“Yup.” Dean grinned. “I don’t know what Enoch courting rituals are like, Cas, but around here, we get the urge to show off our partners when we really like them.”

Castiel looked immensely pleased, pressing his mouth to Dean’s for a long, firm kiss which had dissolved into a wide grin by the end. He reached up, sliding the pads of his fingers across Dean’s jawbone as he responded. “Well, on my home planet, I would have likely had to challenge others for you; you’re strong, smart, and beautiful. The fights were often long and bloody, so let us be glad I found my mate elsewhere.”

Dean enjoyed the feel of Castiel’s fingers lingering against his day-old stubble, so he leaned into his hand, smiling back at him. “Well, you’ve got no competition, Cas. The scariest thing you have to face is Gabriel.”

Castiel’s eyes flicked back to the doorway, which led back out to the living room. “Do you think they will like me?” he asked, nervously.

“They will love you. Here—” Dean paused to reach into the pantry cupboard and pull out a jar of candy pieces. “Take these in there. Gabriel and Jack will be on your side in seconds, I promise.”

Holding the jar reverently in front of him, Castiel nodded solemnly and headed to the living room with it. By the time Dean followed him, armed with beer, juice for Jack, and a plate of defrosted apple pie he’d made a couple of weeks before, Gabriel already had a handful of candy wrappers spread out in front of him.

Castiel stood awkwardly off to the side. His hands were clasped behind his back, out of sight, but Dean could easily guess what they were doing. He stepped up to the alien, running a hand down his arm reassuringly until he reached his tangled fingers. He led Castiel to the second, smaller sofa, smiling to himself when Castiel sat down right next to him, as insensitive to personal space as ever.

Sam cleared his throat, his hazel eyes resting on the two of them. “I should apologize,” he said. “I’m sorry I doubted you Dean. I tried not to, it’s just very—”

Dean waved a hand. “’S’cool, Sam. I get it.”

Castiel turned his head quizzically to the side.

“Sam wasn’t sure you were real,” Dean explained with a little grin.

“Oh,” said Castiel. He looked across at Sam and gave him a small, hopeful smile, but didn’t say anything else.

Gabriel carefully placed a piece of Dean’s pie on a napkin and handed it down to Jack, who sat on the floor near Sam’s feet, eyeing Castiel curiously. Once the little boy was settled with his food, Gabriel turned his attention back to Castiel. “Alright, alien-boy.” He grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Tell us all about you. Do you wanna take over the world? Eat the president? Probe anyone other than Dean-o?”

Castiel looked at Dean in alarm, right as Sam elbowed his husband sharply in the rubs.

“Cas doesn’t eat at all,” Dean said firmly, glaring. “And the probing is strictly bedroom related. Do either of you have any polite questions?”

Sam opened his mouth—most likely to apologize again, Dean assumed—but they all fell immediately silent as little Jack pushed away his uneaten pie and stood up.

Dragging his blanket behind him, the small boy walked across to Dean and Castiel, frowning.

Dean leaned down to ask him what was up, but Jack ignored him and focused on Castiel.

They each stared for a moment, wordless, before Jack nodded and proceeded to climb up into Castiel’s lap. For a moment Castiel looked terrified, until he realized what the kid was doing. Then he smiled, a huge, gummy smile, and helped Jack get situated.

Tugging his small, worn blanket over them both, Jack leaned sideways into Castiel’s chest and curled up, before looking back to the rest of them with a patient, calm expression. He blinked slowly as if to say, Well, don’t stop on my account. Carry on.

Sam and Gabriel stared.

“He—” Sam said, feebly.

Gabriel appeared to have—miraculously—been shocked to silence.

Ha! thought Dean triumphantly. You just try not to like him now!

Castiel smiled shyly, very cautiously raising his arms to hug the barely-verbal little boy. The two looked at each other, easy and quiet.

“Well, would you look at that,” Gabriel spoke up eventually. “Looks like you’re not the favorite uncle anymore, Dean.”

“You know what?” Dean said, leaning over the top of Jack’s head to press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “I’m completely fine with that.”

~~***~~

“It was amazing, Charlie—Jack just held it out when he left! It was like he’d just decided that Cas needed comfort more than he did,” Dean said excitedly, his chest full to bursting with fond remembrance.

Charlie looked over her chicken sandwich at him with huge, wide-green eyes. “Just gave it to him? I’ve never seen Jack without that blanket!”

“It was adorable, honestly. I thought Sam was gonna cry!” Dean laughed. “Cas was amazing with him. They didn’t even speak, but he let Cas persuade him to eat some pie and then taught him how to play with Legos. Who’d have thought an alien would be so good with kids? It was the cutest thing I have ever seen, no lie.”

They were sat on the grass out near the SLF runway, enduring lunch in the blistering Florida sun so as to have some privacy.

Charlie threw a couple of potato chips into her mouth, looking sideways at Dean and smiling softly. “The cutest thing I’ve ever seen is Dean Winchester getting broody over a tentacle alien he hasn’t let me even meet yet,” she said, jabbing him the side with her elbow.

“I am not broody,” Dean grumbled, rubbing his ribs with his left hand while he devoured his PB&J with the other. “And even if I was—alien parts, Charles. Biology says I’m out of luck.”

Dean hoped his flush didn’t show under the heat from the beating sun they lay in. So what if his long-hidden domestic longings had attached themselves to his alien boyfriend? It wasn’t like it was an option.

“Sometimes different species can breed!” Charlie defended, pouting. “Like lions and tigers—you could have liger kids. Or Grolar Bears, or Wholphins.”

“What the f*ck is a wholphin?!” Dean exclaimed, laughing.

“Bottlenose Dolphin and False Killer Whale hybrid,” she said pompously. “My point is, wrap it before you tap it Dean-o, because you never know.”

“I should probably ask Cas about that,” Dean mused mildly, gulping down a chunk of his sandwich crust and speaking around it. “For all I know, Enoch reproduce via budding.”

Charlie snorted. “You didn’t think that was an important question before you started boning E.T.?”

“Hey,” Dean glared mildly at her. “He has a name, okay. Don’t call him that.”

The redhead fixed him with a firm look. “Well maybe if I hadn’t been waiting all week to meet him—"

“Fine, fine,” Dean relented, holding up his hands once he was done clapping the crumbs off them. “He’s a little shy. But how about I ask him if he’d be okay to go out to the Roadhouse again tonight? We could meet you there, have a couple of drinks, just be low-key about it. Not overwhelm him like I did with Sam and his family.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise. If he’s important to you, he’s important to me.” Charlie gave him a crisp, Vulcan salute. “After all, I have been—and always shall be—your friend.”

Dean returned the salute with a grin and pushed himself up off the grass. He used one hand to shield his eyes against the sun, offering the other down to help Charlie up off the floor. “Better get back to work, I guess. I’ve been doing my best to be a model employee, stay under the radar, but it’s been hard—I need Naomi to sign off on my final mental health eval from the Ares mission before I’m allowed to even apply for another, and she still hasn’t done it. I’ve tried every paper-pusher that was involved in the mission, and not a single one of them has responded to me.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Do you think maybe she doesn’t want you to go back out?”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked as they made their way back toward the Kennedy Center.

“Well, if there really is some kind of conspiracy going on here, and Naomi is involved with it…” Charlie seemed to choose her words carefully, her voice very low.

Dean was immediately alarmed, not to mention slightly irritated with himself for having not already thought of that. “You don’t think she—they—you don’t think they’re aware… that they know that I know about Cas being here, do you? That he’s with me?”

Charlie shrugged, scanning her security card so they could get back into the center and waiting for Dean to pass through the metal detector behind her before she replied. “Well, someone had that footage redacted, Dean. So they obviously had no intention of announcing Cas’s presence to anyone. As for how much they know… we can only guess.”

Dean nodded, silent, as they walked toward the Research and Development end of the complex. “Yeah. If they think there’s even a chance I know…”

Charlie gave Dean a significant look as he trailed off. “We can talk tonight,” she said.

Reaching the door to the engineering labs, Dean nodded and gave Charlie a silent wave as she headed off in the other direction toward Artificial Intelligence.

Phone checked in, lab coat in place, Dean grabbed clean gloves and a new mask. He threw himself into the construction of the new toilet prototype, so that he wouldn’t have time to think about anything else.

Of course, he thought of little else.

If they realize I know—if they realize Cas is with me—how much danger am I in? How much danger will he be in?

Sighing loudly, Dean pulled off his mask, looking over at Anna and gesturing to the blocky, gray model that was suspended in the small gravity simulator they had in the lab. “I’m going to rerun a few of the calculations for the rest of the afternoon,” he said. “The second valve is still sticking.”

Anna nodded, distracted by her own work. “Alright. Good job so far, at least. I’ll steal the simulator if you’re not going to use it.”

Dean left her to it and headed back to the computer section of the lab, throwing his gloves into an incineration bucket on the way. He spun slowly in his chair, trying to clear his head, but it was no use. After several full, 360-degree spins, he placed his feet back on the floor and scooted his chair in under the desk.

Logging on to the network, his mouse hovered awkwardly over the archive drive icon for a moment. Shaking his head, he clicked, knowing that he’d always been going to do it, he’d merely been delaying the inevitable. He navigated directly to the folders for the Ares series of missions. There were files for each of the cosmonauts involved—the three scientists, Michael, Bartholomew, and Zac, were still on Mars, and so their files were being updated regularly. There were four more folders, for the next wave of astronauts that would go up after them.

But no Dean Winchester.

He frowned. He knew it’d been there the other day; he’d seen it—he was sure he had. Maybe it had been accidentally moved? Clicking back up the file tree, he searched for the redacted landing videos that he’d viewed on Tuesday.

Those were gone too.

Suddenly, Dean’s throat was drier than Mars had ever been. He stumbled up from his computer chair and walked quickly to the door, grabbing his phone from the security box.

“Dean?” Anna called, confused.

The door slammed behind him, and he ran.

He fled through the corridors of the Kennedy Center, out through the main research and development entrance and into the main building, through the security checkpoint and out into the employee parking lot at the back of the building, well away from the touristy parts on the other side. He banged into people in his haste, earning him a few angry looks and shouts, but he didn’t stop, all but sprinting out of the building.

Paranoid, Dean could have sworn he felt every single security camera in the place turning onto him.

He didn’t pause until he was behind Baby’s wheel, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths. Quickly, with a trembling hand, he sent a text to Anna. Sorry to run. Suddenly felt sick again, didn’t want to contaminate the lab.

Anna must have been retrieving her own phone to call him, because she responded almost immediately. Alright. At least it's Friday. Stay home on Monday if you aren’t 100% better though.

Dean stared listlessly out of the car window for a minute more, before starting the engine. He was probably overreacting, he reasoned.

He had to be overreacting. Because the other option was terrifying.

He’d leave a voicemail message for Charlie, he decided, telling her what was up with the files, and see what she had to say about it this evening.

“Hey, Red. I’m leaving the lab now, gonna go home and check on Cas. Send me a text when you’re out, so we can arrange a time for meeting up tonight, yeah?” He paused, but decided to go ahead. “The stuff that you looked up the other day? It's gone… and so am I. My whole section. Completely wiped. I just, uh, wanted to let you know. In case it was important.”

He hung up. The message was a bit vague, but he felt like Charlie would know exactly what he meant.

Dean resolved to try and put it out of his mind again for a few hours, and head on home to spend a little extra time with Castiel. Maybe they’d have time to watch a movie before they headed out, if he hurried.

It doesn’t matter what NASA know, or don’t know, or what they try, Dean thought, his eyes fixed decidedly on the road in front of him as he pulled onto the highway back to the town of Merritt Island. I’m not letting them take you from me, Cas.

The rest of his thoughts, of course, were a little less heroic and savory.

They already tried to erase the evidence of his existence, locked him up, tortured him. If they know I’m helping him, that I’m the reason he’s here—how far will they go?

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

The enticing scent of cooking food greeted Dean as he stepped out of the elevator and onto the landing outside his apartment. Initially he thought that his neighbors, an elderly couple with too many cats and some impressively delicious Italian ancestry, were cooking up something tasty—but he was surprised to realize that the smell was emanating from his own apartment.

It was a relief; there had been an irrational, almost frantic part of him somewhere between his brain and his heart that was afraid he’d come home to an empty place, police tape, and NASA agents.

Without knocking, he slipped his key into the lock and eased the door open as quietly as he could, peering into the apartment.

One of Dean’s precious, original Led Zeppelin vinyls spun in the living room, filling his small home with the sounds of Whole Lotta Love. And suddenly, Dean realized, the place felt like a home—not just the apartment he’d lived in ever since he’d moved here. Through the open kitchen doorway, he could make out Castiel, moving around. His usual trench coat wasn’t in sight; instead he was down to the white dress shirt he wore with his suit, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and the tie even looser than usual. His socked feet padded quietly on the kitchen tile as he moved from the pantry to the stove, adding a pinch of something from Dean’s stash to a pot bubbling on the cooktop. He picked up one of Dean’s cookbooks from the counter, holding it between both hands, and a tentacle casually stirred the pot as he studied the recipe.

He’d been doing that more often the past two days or so when they were alone; allowing little parts of his true form to slip through, though mostly maintaining his usual visage. It seemed to indicate he was comfortable, and Dean loved it.

The front door clicked as Dean shut it softly behind him.

“Dean!” Castiel turned, smiling immediately as he heard the sound. “You’re early. How am I supposed to surprise you if you’re early?”

Dean laughed, using his toes on his heels to ease off the steel-capped safety shoes he wore in the lab, dumping his bag in a pile on top of them just inside the door. “What are you doing, sneaky alien? It smells amazing.”

“It’s nothing much,” Castiel said shyly, continuing to stir. “But the book said it was one of the easiest recipes, so figured I should start with it. As I don’t even know what most of these things are supposed to taste like.”

Dean stepped up behind him, sliding his arms around Castiel’s waist as he stood at the stove. “I had no idea aliens came in a Stepford variety, but if that’s what makes you happy, hell, I’ll take it.”

Castiel shrugged. “Earth offers many new opportunities. I would like to try lots of them… and I thought this one might make you smile.”

Dean reached past Castiel, lowering the heat on the stove for a moment and easing the wooden spoon out of his rogue tentacle. Cookbook lowered back the counter, he used his hands on Castiel’s hips to coax him to turn. The alien’s endless blue eyes gazed at him curiously as Dean took a moment to study his boyfriend’s handsome features, running the pad of his thumb up his jaw to his cheekbone, slowly losing his fingers in the thick, dark hair at his temple.

Castiel tilted his head, of course, though his now-frequent tiny smile sat on his lips as Dean leaned in to kiss him, keeping the alien’s head in his hands as he pressed their mouths together tenderly. Castiel was always so warm, his lips dry but never unpleasant against Dean’s. He responded easily, his eyes drifting closed as Dean’s did, tongue easing forward to slowly lick into Dean’s mouth. The alien’s arms wrapped around his back familiarly, his strong hands spread against the planes of muscle beneath Dean’s shoulder blades.

It was perfect, and a bubble of happiness throbbed in Dean’s chest.

They didn’t rush, the simple pasta sauce that Castiel had been making bubbling quietly in the background as they breathed each other’s air, open mouthed and smiling. More small kisses, just gentle presses of their lips, followed even as Dean’s eyes drifted hazily back open.

I could lose you again. His worries returned with a force like a rocket igniting, the most terrifying of all the thoughts invading as Dean blinked, pulling back an inch or two.

“I love you so much, Cas,” Dean said, suddenly feeling like he was choking. He knew his face fell, from the way Castiel reacted to him; frowning, worried, sliding his hands up Dean’s back to pull him tightly back in.

“What happened?” Castiel asked, astutely.

“At work today,” Dean found himself practically whispering, “I went to look at the same files that I found the Ares 1 landing videos in. Everything in it that was to do with the landing, or to do with me, has been deleted.”

Castiel frowned. “Why would they erase you? Me, I understand, but why you? What does it mean?”

“It might mean they know I’m aware of you, Cas. I’m worried it means they know I’m hiding you.”

Their faces were so close together that Dean felt Castiel’s lip tremble fractionally against his. “I should leave—I don’t want to cause trouble for you, Dean. That’s not why I came here.”

“No, please,” Dean said hurriedly. “Please stay, Cas. We’ll work something out. Charlie, my friend who helped me find the landing videos—she wanted to meet you, tonight. I was going to suggest we go to the Roadhouse and have a couple of drinks with her. Maybe after that, over the weekend, we can talk about what we should do. I could look for a job somewhere else, we could leave Merritt Island if we had to.”

“But, Dean.” Castiel frowned. “You love NASA.”

“After what they did to you, or helped do to you? No.”

For a moment they stood, Dean wrapped in Castiel’s arms next to the stove, slowly stroking up and down each other’s backs in a motion of mutual comfort.

“You should stir your sauce,” Dean pointed out once he’d calmed a little. “It smells amazing, don’t let me ruin it.”

Turning, but staying within Dean’s hold, Castiel leaned back against his chest and stirred the pot. “Charlie specifically wanted to meet me, tonight?” he asked, carefully making sure the tomato-based sauce didn’t stick.

“Yeah, nothing too much, just a low-pressure drink or two after dinner,” Dean said, smiling again as he watched Castiel’s large hand rest the wooden spoon against the edge of the pan. “She’s going to love you, just like Sam, and Gabe, and Jack.”

Castiel’s sudden smile was wide as he craned his head up slightly to look at Dean again. “I liked Jack very much. He is a sweet child, even without talking.”

Dean chuckled, enjoying the feeling of Castiel moving slightly against his chest as he seasoned their food. “He’s a great kid. My brother is really lucky. When I was younger, I always wanted a bunch of kids and a home and family like that, but being an astronaut never really… well, it didn’t suit it, I guess. But I’m so glad that it happened for Sammy.”

Still looking at Dean, Castiel squinted. “So, you do not wish for that kind of life, any longer? Family, home, all those things that human culture praises?”

Dean shrugged one shoulder, reaching over to take the spoon from the sauce and blow on it, wanting to taste Castiel’s deliciously bubbling concoction. “Of course I do. But Cas, I have you. Or at least I hope I do. You’re my family, now,” Dean said. He didn’t know why it was so easy for him to be vulnerable with his alien, when usually emotions had to be pried from him with a wrench. Castiel just made him comfortable… and he had mentioned some kind of empathic abilities. Maybe that helped.

Castiel was gazing up at him, smiling crookedly.

“What?” Dean asked, before taking a slurp of the hot pasta sauce. It was simple, but delicious, and he made a content hum around the spoon, to Castiel’s obvious pleasure.

“I am glad to be your family, Dean,” he said, taking the spoon from him to stir again. “I wanted those kinds of things too, once. Obviously, I also thought they were not possible for me.”

“Was that… before?” Dean asked carefully, wanting to coax the alien to share with him, but not pressure him past the clear stop-sign he’d thrown up in their similar conversation previously. “When you were on your home planet, with the rest of your kind?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. I had a very large family, before—” He cut off, frowning.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it, clearly it makes you uncomfortable. And that’s okay.”

“No,” Castiel said, turning more fully towards Dean once more, seemingly satisfied with his simmering sauce. He sounded a little uncertain as he added, “You are my mate. I should share my burdens with you, correct? Is that not how it’s supposed to be?”

Dean nodded firmly. “Of course. You can share anything you want with me. I want to learn everything about you, now I have the chance.”

Castiel’s nod was sharp and decisive, though Dean wasn’t entirely sure what the alien had decided. “May I show you, Dean?” he raised two fingers questioningly towards Dean’s temple.

“Uh, sure?” Dean said, not understanding.

As soon as the alien’s first and second fingers touched to his head, Dean understood.

The black, nebulous starscape that surrounded him was familiar. He’d been here many times; though Dean very suddenly realized that he hadn’t gone anywhere at all. His physical body still stood in the kitchen, he was certain. Just his mind was elsewhere.

“So that’s what you do.” Dean grinned at Castiel next to him, towering over Dean in his huge, jet-hued true from. He raised two fingers to show what he meant.

Castiel nodded.

Dean looked around, but so far, the black, twinkling environment was empty, other than the ever-stretching sense of darkness and stars. “You wanted to show me something?” he asked, smiling reassuringly across at Castiel’s nervous-looking, twisting, alien form.

“Yes,” he said. “Here I don’t have to think about the words, I can just… show you.”

“Alright,” said Dean. He reached out to take one of Castiel’s huge hands, and one of the knotting tentacles immediately came up to wrap softly around Dean’s wrist along with it, as if Dean’s touch was just a comfort to him now. The thought made Dean smile.

The starscape changed and shifted; images danced across Dean’s vision and through his mind, playing against the blackness like a giant projector of memories.

And somehow Castiel didn’t tell Dean what any of these images were; he just knew.

He saw creatures just like Castiel, all the same—huge and winged and tentacled—though all slightly different, just as humans were. There were giant Enoch even bigger than Castiel’s form. Dean knew that they were Castiel’s family—brothers, a lot of brothers. Castiel shared with him, somehow, the knowledge that they didn’t stop growing, ever. He saw tiny ones, newborns, small enough to sit in Dean’s palm, perhaps. And then ancient beings, bigger than the Chrysler building. Castiel, despite his allusions to being thousands of years old, was young, by their measure.

Dean saw a world that was ever-changing, miraculous by Dean’s standards; a paradise, until the Enoch themselves destroyed it, wanting command over what they had been entrusted with by their forebears. They sought new worlds, to expand, to survive. As Dean thought of Earth, that part was uncomfortably familiar.

He saw the Enoch dwindling; anger, arguments, divisions over things that Dean did not understand, but had no need to. Smaller groups then, factions, fighting not just between themselves but against themselves, brother against brother. He sensed Castiel’s fear, and his anger. He’d been young then, helpless. But he wasn’t anymore. Now he viewed things differently, knew which brothers he would have stood by, which he would have turned on. But he’d been a child, and those choices weren’t his at the time.

Dean saw an angry, wild-eyed alien. A hunter, the knowledge came to him through Castiel immediately. Some imagined slight had turned him against his own kind. The hunter’s skin was almost swampy brown compared to Castiel’s beautiful, purplish-tinged black. He discovered Castiel’s family, what was left of them, hiding Castiel and his other young brothers on a distant planet that Dean had no idea of. He saw them all slaughtered, before his eyes—before young Castiel’s eyes. Castiel had hidden beneath the body of his own favorite brother—Balthazar, Castiel thought sadly, loud in Dean’s mind. His name was Balthazar. Castiel had lay motionless, terrified, a child still, and had been overlooked by the hunter.

He’d been the only one left. He flew and searched for more of his kind. For years. Many years, that stretched out into a black, dark loneliness. The last of his kind that he had ever seen had been the hunter set on destroying them all.

“Oh, Cas…” Dean couldn’t help but gasp out, low and sorrowful. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really, it is. It was a very long time ago.” The tentacle around his wrist tightened, but the huge blue eyes smiled. “But, thank you. I never had anyone to mourn with me, before.”

Eventually, exhausted, broken, Castiel settled on a familiar red planet. She was kind, Castiel thought. The planet was kind to me. You would not understand it, but she was. There was peace, then, on Mars; still loneliness, but a kind of home.

And then Dean.

For an eerie moment, Dean saw himself as Castiel saw him, knew—no, felt—the impression and feelings that Castiel had for him, in the beginning.

New. Interesting. Curious.

Then, there were flashes of their first moments on Mars, their first days and weeks. Friendly. Generous. Kind. Patient.

And then further. Dean didn’t just see the way Castiel saw him, as if he glowed like something precious, but he felt it. It washed over him, overwhelming.

Funny. Beautiful. Beloved. Mate.

Dean felt his ears flushing and warming as the images faded, and he found Castiel next to him again, human looking, in the kitchen. His cheeks were tinged red also, as if he hadn’t meant to go quite that far.

Silently, Dean reached over and turned off the sauce, then searched the cabinet for the correct lid to cover the pan with.

“Dean?” Castiel asked quietly. “I’m sorry if that was… too much.”

Dean found his prize, and quickly covered the pot of pasta sauce before he turned back to Castiel. Taking both of his hands in his, he shook his head. “No. That was eye-opening, but not too much. Thank you for sharing it with me—” He paused to grin. “—even that last part.”

Castiel blushed still, but his voice was unchanged, as if the reaction didn’t bother him at all. “You already knew that I view you as my mate. That, in human terms, I am in love with you. My emotions are, overall, not so easily changeable as a human’s. They are so, and they will remain.”

“Yeah, but hearing it is a little different to feeling it, Cas,” Dean said.

“It was unwelcome?” Castiel questioned, frowning slightly.

“No way,” Dean shook his head, using their joined hands to tug Castiel along with him as he walked out of the kitchen. “It’s very welcome. I might not be able to do a Vulcan mind-meld to show you exactly how much you are home and family to me, but I can for sure take you to the couch, drop down to my knees, and show you in the human way.”

“Ahh,” Castiel said, grinning as he followed. “I see. That is certainly acceptable.”

~~***~~

“Jesus Christ, look at that ass,” Charlie muttered into her glass, her eyes bulging as she stared ahead.

“Oi,” Dean elbowed her in the ribs. “Stick to the female specimens would you?”

Charlie had texted Dean and arranged to meet them at the Roadhouse once she finished work for the evening. They’d almost canceled getting together entirely, in favor of lying low until Charlie could get back into NASA’s servers, but in they end they had thought better of it, deciding to stick to their original plan of very careful normalcy. They didn’t want to raise any red flags, anywhere.

Watching his best friend’s fascination and enthusiasm at meeting Castiel was entertaining, and Dean figured that they needed the distraction; he had too many questions about NASA and the Ares mission to be able to solve anything that evening.

Regardless, they didn’t plan on staying long; Charlie had hacking to do, and Dean had vague, nebulous ideas about finding a remote cabin to hide in. Realizing he was turning into his Uncle Bobby, he brought his attention back to the Roadhouse.

He had ordered a beer for him and Charlie—Castiel too, though he had sipped his and wrinkled his nose, and it had gone untouched since—and then they decided to play some pool, as Dean had taught Castiel how on their first date night here. He and Charlie were watching Castiel bend over the Roadhouse’s pool table right in front of them, carefully popping the multi-colored balls back into the triangle, and they certainly weren’t concerned with being subtle about it.

As much as Charlie was being a dorky perv, Dean had to agree with her. That was a fantastic ass.

Thank you, Jimmy whoever you are, for whatever made you end up at the bakery right before I went to Mars. And for all that running, or lunges or whatever.

“Being a lesbian doesn’t make me blind, Dean. You need to make sure he’s always wearing that trench coat when you leave your apartment. You’ll have people lining up to park their bicycles between those.”

“Well sorry, people of Merritt Island,” Dean smirked. “That space is occupied.”

“I can hear you both,” Castiel rumbled dryly.

“And?” Charlie challenged. “From what Dean tells me, you chose that image from his memories, Casanova. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Castiel looked momentarily cowed as he straightened up, but it didn’t last long. He handed the pool cue over to Dean with a calm, serious smile. “I may have chosen from Dean’s memories that… had a positive association,” he admitted. “I thought it would make him less likely to react poorly to my approach.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow curiously as she moved to stand next to Castiel, gesturing for Dean to take his shot. “And how did that work out for you?”

“He poked me a fair bit, then waved a knife at me.”

Dean rolled his eyes, pausing to line up his shot before he spoke up in his own defense. “You slapped me onto my ass, remember? Then turned up again with a rock, bypassing every security feature the base had. I was terrified.”

Dean slid the pool cue sharply forward over the arch of his hand, smacking the side of the white ball at just the right angle. It hit the cushion on the furthest edge of the table, then bounced back to smack one of the striped balls firmly into the pocket. He took a second shot, not quite so perfect, before turning around to check on Charlie and Cas.

They’d moved a few steps to the side from where he’d last seen them to let someone past, and Dean whipped around wildly until he spotted them both, his heart thumping up out of his ribcage and into his mouth. Alright, so Dean was being a little overprotective, possibly even paranoid and stressy. But NASA was acting shifty, so sue him.

Conversation seemed to have died, and Charlie was staring.

“Oi, Charles,” Dean said, nudging her in the shoulder with the handle of his cue. “It’s rude to stare.”

“Sorry!” The redhead didn’t even have the good graces to blush. Instead she flapped her hands up and down, indicating Castiel, and dropped her voice to a low, intentional whisper. “He just looks so—well, human.”

Castiel blinked. He didn’t move, his hands in his pockets, but Dean noted a tiny tell-tale twitch within the lining of the jacket as his fingers twirled.

Dean frowned at Charlie. “I know you mean well Red, but you’re kinda making him uncomfortable.”

“I am?” Charlie turned to the alien immediately, apologetic. “Castiel, I’m sorry. Really. I’m trying to be cool, but you’re just so fascinating.”

Castiel gave her a small, understanding smile.

Dean handed over to Charlie for her turn at the table, and moved up beside Castiel. He slipped an arm around his waist, turning his head over Castiel’s shoulder so that he could speak quietly to him alone. “You okay? D’you wanna go? Charlie is a lot—”

“Charlie is very nice, Dean. She is very curious but not malicious. I don’t mind,” Castiel said, just as quietly. He slipped his arm around Dean in turn, and they angled quietly toward one another, smiling.

“Okay, Cas. You just let me know when it gets too much, alright? I want you to be comfortable. One step at a time.”

Castiel’s expression softened, as if Dean’s care was somehow still a surprise to him. “I will tell you, Dean,” he reassured.

Dean leaned in to give Castiel a small, grinning kiss on the nose before he looked back over at the pool table. Charlie was watching them with veritable hearts in her eyes.

“What?” Dean asked, chuckling.

“You two are so freaking cute,” Charlie gushed, unashamed. “You’re my new OTP. I might even write an—”

Castiel looked confused, and tilted his head as if he might ask, so Dean cut them both off right there.

“We are not cute. We’re all manly and stuff. Just look at us. Epitome of masculinity.”

“Those things are not exclusive,” Charlie threw back. “You can be as adorable as you want, and still look like a lumberjack. It’s not the nineteen forties.”

“You do look like a lumberjack,” Castiel added in softly. He smiled as if he believed he was being helpful.

Dean rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Alright. I’m getting another beer. Charlie?”

“Just a soda,” Charlie said, spinning the pool cue like a baton before she handed it to Castiel. “Rowena will be here to get me in a few.”

Dean nodded, turning to Castiel, who was looking at him, waiting. “Cas?”

Castiel gave Dean a very hopeful little smile.

“You want coffee, don’t you?” Dean laughed. “Sure. I doubt Ellen will mind making you one. Remind me to take you to Starbucks sometime, it’ll blow you away.”

Castiel raised a curious eyebrow, but any response was cut off by the arrival of a gloriously overdressed older redhead in a knee-length black wiggle-dress and red-bottomed stiletto heels.

“Evening, darling,” she greeted Charlie after making a beeline straight for them all.

Charlie stepped around the pool table and met the slightly smaller woman with a kiss on the cheek. They were an odd-looking couple, to some; Charlie habitually wore converse, beaten up jeans and some kind of nerdy top, often with a plaid shirt thrown on over it. She’d been known to steal Deans shirts even, saying that the men’s ones were just better. Rowena, on the other hand, always dressed like she was going for a day at an upscale casino, even when she was in the corner of Charlie’s game nights drinking gin and tonics or tiptoeing through fields to watch Charlie LARP.

She was fabulous at all times, and wielded a teasing, biting sense of humor that her Scottish accent did nothing but make more cutting. Dean liked her, she was a lot of fun, but there was a tiny bit of him that was intimidated by her, too.

Dean changed course from the bar, heading straight back over to them to save Castiel, but it made no difference. Rowena already had him in her sights.

“Ro, this is Cas,” Charlie said. “He’s Dean’s… partner.”

Dean noted Charlie struggling with the wording and smirked to himself. Boyfriend would have to do, for other people. He couldn’t really have anyone else calling him Castiel’s mate.

“Ooh,” purred Rowena, looking Castiel up and down like a side of meat in a butcher’s shop. “A new boy-toy for the spaceman?”

“Not that new,” Dean said calmly. We’ve actually known each other, what… five months or so now, Cas?”

Castiel blinked, then gave a thoughtful nod.

“And you’ve kept him from me, Dean?” Rowena teased as she turned back to regarding Castiel. “Well, I can see why. What a glorious specimen. Are you from around here, sweetie pie?”

“I—uh—” Castiel cleared his throat, looking more outwardly uncomfortable than Dean had ever seen.

It was tempting to leave Castiel to sweat under Rowena’s overwhelming attention, because it was funny as hell, but Dean honestly wasn’t a secure enough man that he could get away with that. Not quite, anyway.

“Hey, you old witch,” he insulted Rowena playfully, jabbing her in the collarbone with a finger. “You already took my best friend, you don’t get my boyfriend too.”

Rowena fluttered her eyelashes, her Scottish lilt highlighted as she laughed. “You’re welcome to join us Dean, you know that.”

Charlie and Dean both shuddered a little.

“I was going to grab another drink but actually,” Dean said, flicking his eyes over to Castiel for a moment, “if you’re here to pick up Charlie, we might head out, if Cas wants. We can walk home and swing by a coffee place.”

Castiel looked very eager indeed.

“Spoilsport.” Rowena sulked, even as she was tucking herself into Charlie’s side. “Well, hopefully we can see you both soon, darlings.”

Dean laughed at Castiel’s slightly alarmed expression, but nodded. “Only if you play nice, Ro. He’s not used to you.”

“I can tell,” she said, grinning wolfishly. “It’s charming.”

Charlie extracted herself from her girlfriend’s side, ignoring the pout that followed her as she moved up to hug Dean and whisper briefly into his ear.

“I’m heading home to dig back into those files, okay? Something isn’t right. I don’t want to worry either you or Cas unnecessarily but… I dunno. Maybe your brother-in-law is less crazy than we thought.”

“Well,” Dean responded dryly, his voice low, “he was right about aliens being real. What’s a little conspiracy on top of that?”

Castiel was watching them hug, and his eyes caught Dean’s curiously at their whispered conversation. He was busy staring, his blue eyes locked firmly in Dean’s direction as they were wont to be, and he missed Charlie’s sudden approach; Dean stifled a smirk as best he could behind his hand when the alien merely froze when Charlie hugged him, his eyes awkwardly wide and his arms clamped down by his sides, immobile.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean said, grinning across at him as he offered his hand for Castiel to catch in his own. “Let’s walk.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel whispered quietly as they waved goodbye and headed out of the door. “I apologize for being so awkward, and rude, and—I don’t mean to.”

Dean smiled across at the alien as they stepped out onto the concrete pavement, the light around them dipping in and out as they walked from the golden puddle of one street lamp through the dimmer patch toward the next.

After paranoidly checking up and down the street (as if NASA would be driving some giant truck with “Alien Catchers!” printed on the side), he turned back to Castiel to respond. “It’s okay. Not everyone is a social butterfly, I get it.”

“Well, I—I’ve been alone a long time, and your language is—”

Dean interrupted the alien with a squeeze to their linked fingers. “You don’t have to have an excuse, Cas, you know that, right?”

Castiel looked over at him, shy and silent, but said nothing.

“You said I was smart,” Dean said again, looking at Cas pointedly. “So don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me that when we were on Mars, you could have talked to me inside Ares Base, if you’d have wanted to. I know you didn’t know English to start with, but you could have later on—the whole base is pressurized the same as Earth, Cas. And you didn’t say a word in there to Rowena, and barely a few sentences to Charlie. You were happiest with Jack, honestly, and he doesn’t speak at all.”

Castiel’s eyes dropped. “I don’t know how to explain.”

Dean sighed. “You don’t have to explain,” he offered quietly after a minute. “How about I tell you a story instead?”

The alien looked confused as they walked on in the evening light, still hand in hand, but he nodded.

“You know that my mom died, right? In a fire, when I was four.”

“Yes,” Castiel said quietly, nodding. They’d spoken about it before.

“I didn’t like to talk, after she died. I couldn’t explain why, at the time, but I researched it when I was an adult, just to find out what was going on back then.”

Castiel co*cked his head to the side, no longer watching where he was going, his full attention on Dean as he continued.

“I started talking more the older I got, and hell, I barely shut up now. It was just certain situations, places that… well, places I didn’t feel safe, probably. It turns out that traumatic experiences do that, sometimes. It’s related to PTSD and anxiety, in some cases, though I think there’s a lot of other reasons too. And it can be more severe, or not so much, and last a long time, or not so much.”

“So,” Dean said, breaking off his speech slowly and squeezing Castiel’s hand again. “You never have to talk if you don’t want to. Not to me, not to anyone else. And you don’t need any excuse beyond you just don’t feel like you can, okay?”

Castiel’s eyes were cast down to the pavement now, watching their feet slowly eat up the bare mile back home. Dean didn’t miss the way his eyes were blinking rapidly.

“You went through a lot, Cas. When you were young, and then being alone so long, and since coming to Earth, too,” Dean added softly. “The last thing I want you to worry about is whether you’re being too awkward, or rude. I’m happy you finally got to a place where you were comfortable talking to me. But I won’t make you talk to anyone else. I’ll support you trying, but just as much when you don’t want to, okay?”

They were in the middle of the street, but it didn’t stop Castiel from halting their footsteps and pulling Dean to him, pressing their lips together in a thanks that required no words.

“Come on,” Dean said, when they finally pulled apart. “Let’s go introduce you to the American institution that is: Starbucks.”

“Do they have coffee?” Castiel asked hopefully.

“You could say that.”

Dean couldn’t wait to see Castiel’s reaction to the sheer number of different coffees he could order.

See, things aren’t so bad, Dean thought. I have to stop letting NASA stress me out, at least for the weekend. After all, what could possibly go so wrong in just two days?

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Starbucks coffee wasn’t Dean’s favorite. Gabriel said he was a savage, but then, Gabriel liked his coffee with so many sweet bells and whistles it could practically play a tune, whereas Dean liked a hot, black, mug of burnt tar you could stand a spoon up in. Castiel seemed to enjoy coffee in any form. He’d fallen into his love affair with caffeine up on Ares Base, where the choices were incredibly limited, so to him, Starbucks was an absolute Nirvana.

He did seem a little overwhelmed to start with, nervously staring at all the options. He was delightfully bewildered when Dean pointed out to him that there were several to choose from even if he only wanted black coffee, but he had a feeling Castiel might enjoy some of the sweeter things so he pointed those out too.

It was then that Dean discovered that when the alien turned those vivid, enchanting blue eyes on him, he was powerless.

Five minutes later Dean and Castiel walked out of Starbucks together. Castiel wore a content little smile, sipping away on a tall blonde roast as they strolled; Dean carried a tray with two other blends, a hazelnut latte, and a mocha Frappuccino.

“Either Starbucks is going to have to be a rare treat for us, or I’m going to have to learn to resist those puppy-dog eyes you have,” Dean joked. “Letting you drink five coffees in one night has to be bad for you.”

Castiel looked thoughtful as they drifted back toward Dean’s apartment, not in any particular hurry. It was a warm night, the moon was large in the sky, and they were walking with their fingers loosely twined, the coffees in their cardboard container in Dean’s other hand. They had no reason to rush.

“I don’t believe that coffee affects me the way it does humans,” Castiel said, pausing to lick a droplet from his lower lip as they crossed the street. “But I very much enjoy the taste.”

He reached across Dean, switching out his partially-drunk cup for a different one, a medium roast this time. Before he took a sip, he brought their entwined fingers up to his lips and pressed a brief kiss to Dean’s knuckles. “Thank you, Dean.”

“It’s just coffee.” Dean grinned across at him. “And given that I thought I’d never see you again, I think I’m allowed to spoil my mate a bit.”

“For the coffee, yes, but for everything else, too,” Castiel said solemnly. “I knew nothing of humans before you, and yet I am convinced you are best of them all.”

Dean felt his neck flush, so of course, he dismissively knocked his elbow into the alien’s side to cover his embarrassment. “I’m nothing special. Just a salty engineer who wound up in space. But you’re welcome, Cas. I’ll try to be the best, for you.” The last he mumbled, still a failure at emotions on occasion , but trying his best.

Castiel looked like he was about to argue the point home, but he was interrupted by a loud screeching of brakes and a solid thud, sparing Dean any further blushes over his supposed perfection.

They both spun, and it was only Castiel’s amazing reflexes that stopped the coffees from flying out of the paper tray that Dean held. On the other side of the street, a very conservative, stereotypical, beige mini-van had run straight into a huge green dumpster on the side of the road.

“Wow,” said Dean. “That driver clearly wasn’t looking at the road.”

Castiel tilted his head, staring at the car.

With another screech, the car began to back up, and Dean got a good look at the driver. Tall, handsome, wild dark hair, and piercing, memorable blue eyes.

He was staring straight at them, white as a sheet, his eyes wide. Like he’d seen a ghost. Or a clone.

Oh sh*t, it’s Pie-Guy, Dean thought, grabbing Castiel’s elbow and hurrying him along the pavement, coffee sloshing across the recycled cardboard that supported it.

“Keep your head down Cas; I have a feeling I know what he was looking at,” he said, trying not to laugh.

Dean led them quickly on down the street at a light jog, turning the corner and weaving through a slightly longer way home, just to put more twists and turns between them and the crashed soccer mom van.

“Poor dude.” Dean grinned as he slowed back to a walk, trying to stifle a giggle but doing a terrible job.

Despite his usually stoic expression, Dean caught the sparkle of mirth in Castiel’s eyes.

“Hopefully we won’t run into him too often,” Cas said calmly.

“If we do, perhaps you can convince him that he’s the only one who can see you… that would be hilarious—”

Dean’s phone began buzzing in his shirt pocket, curtailing any further discussion of cruel pranks on the poor man whose face Castiel had stolen.

Pulling it out, Dean saw that it was Charlie. She had left the Roadhouse around the same time they had, but even with Rowena driving them home at her usual breakneck speed in her sporty little red BMW, Charlie couldn’t have been home more than fifteen or twenty minutes.

“Hey Charlie,” Dean said, tucking the phone momentarily between his shoulder and ear so that he had a spare hand to press to the small of Castiel’s back. He guided the alien gently away from the window display of women’s underwear he was gazing at, wide-eyed, and set them on the path home.

“Dean.” Charlie sounded out of breath. “I found them.”

“Found them?” Dean froze in the middle of the pavement. “The files? The missing files?”

“Yes. And more.”

Castiel didn’t realize that Dean had stopped for a few steps, but when he noticed he turned back, co*cking his head to the left and regarding Dean with concern.

“I set up a few automated programs to scan some of NASA’s more well-hidden servers and go through all of Naomi’s cloud storage before I left for the Roadhouse,” she explained. “Honestly, it was all really well hidden, most people wouldn’t—”

“Alright, enough humblebragging,” Dean snapped. He stopped, taking a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry, Charlie. I’m just really—”

“Yeah, I get it,” she said quickly, talking over him. He could imagine her waving her hand dismissively. “The videos show Cas being taken in a truck northwest of here, like he said. I don’t know what happened after that. But there’s other stuff. They have entire files on him, Dean.”

Castiel was watching Dean’s phone as Charlie talked, a small frown bundling the soft wrinkles across his brow into a prominent ridge.

“On him?”

“It looks like they knew he was on Mars all along, Dean.”

Dean blinked, and slowly lowered the tray off coffees he held down to the top of a conveniently placed trash can. “Wait—what?”

“They sent you—just one astronaut—up there to see how he’d react to the presence of humans. You were a test run, Dean. They didn’t realize he’d try to come back with you, of course, but it looks like they jumped at the chance. Naomi’s emails are full of reports from the base, Dean. Recordings of him learning from you, scans, all kinds of stuff. They were always watching, the whole time. Have you asked Cas how he got in and out of the base?”

Dean lifted his eyes slowly up to Castiel, whose startlingly blue gaze rested solidly on Dean’s face. “No. We haven’t talked about that yet—hadn’t gotten around to that question.”

It became clear that Castiel could hear the whole conversation, as he stepped closer to Dean, and spoke up. “The locks at the base were for you, I believe, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. “I could phase through the walls just as easily as I teleported you from one end of the base to the other; there were things they could have done to keep me out, of course, but they never…”

Dean reached out, grabbing at Castiel’s hand as he completed the sentence for him. “They never wanted to keep you out. They wanted you in there, where they could monitor you. Learn about you.”

Castiel nodded slowly.

“I don’t understand why they didn’t tell you that was part of the mission, Dean,” Charlie’s voice came back into Dean’s ear suddenly, making him jump.

Dean snorted. “Charlie, if they’d told me, I’d never have believed them. If they’d made Castiel a mission, I’d have treated him differently than I did, viewed him differently. He wouldn’t have been a person that I met, a friend, he’d have been a project. It wouldn’t have worked, he wouldn’t have trusted me.”

Dean felt hollow inside.

He shouldn’t have trusted me.

His face must have shown something of his thoughts, because Castiel was crowding up into his space, shaking his head firmly, as if to say, Stop that. You didn’t know.

“There’s something more important though, Dean. Worse.”

“Worse?” Dean barked a sharp laugh. “It gets worse? Just rip the band-aid off Charlie, how bad is this?”

“They had a tip-off that Cas was on Mars, Dean.”

Dean’s mind went blank, and Castiel’s face mimicked it as he watched and listened.

“Someone gave NASA the info, dude,” Charlie continued. “Told them how to find him, gave them the tech to get people to Mars… so much stuff, Dean. This is so much bigger than you and Cas. They’ve been building Ares Base for ten years to lure him in. You know who Ares is, Dean?”

His mouth was full of fluff and cotton. “He’s—He’s the Greek god of war.”

“Interesting name for a mission, don’tcha think? Whoever tipped them off, they’ve been in contact with them ever since. They keep referring to someone as a ‘specialist’, Dean, I think they’re sending someone to—”

Charlie’s voice faded out into the background as Dean rested his eyes, wide and damp, on Castiel’s face.

No. I can’t lose you again.

Dean cleared his throat desperately, interrupting Charlie's rambling speech, which was beginning to sound like Gabriel at Sunday dinner. “But who, Charlie? And why? Who would give NASA the information they needed to find and contain Cas, and why would they do it in the first place?”

In front of him, Castiel’s face crumpled and fell, and Dean knew that the alien already had suspicions of his own.

“I don’t know, Dean. But this specialist talk is worrying. Someone could be hunting for Cas, and for you by association,” Charlie practically whispered, sounding like she barely believed herself. “I know it sounds crazy, but—”

“Thank you, Charlie,” Dean interrupted softly. “You’ve probably put yourself in more than enough danger already. You should—y’know. Do whatever it is you do, cover your tracks, stay low.”

Silence fell across the phone for a moment, and Dean reached forward, grabbing Castiel’s hand tight. The alien looked back at him, an uncertain look on his face, and Dean felt his heart breaking at the thought that perhaps Castiel wasn’t sure what would happen now, whether this was just too much.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Cas safe,” Dean said, firmly and clearly, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s. “He gave up everything to come here and be with me. He trusted me. So now I’m gonna do the same, and do everything to protect him.”

Charlie was quiet. She knew the implications, Dean knew, perhaps better than Castiel did—as she proved by gently responding, “Alright, Dean. I’ll send you an email address that you can contact me at, a safer one. We’ll change it regularly. Just in case you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Dean said quietly. “For everything, Charlie.”

Suddenly very aware they were in the middle of the street, Dean clutched Castiel’s fingers tightly between his and ducked his head down, beginning to move swiftly along the pavement, coffee forgotten.

“Dean—” Castiel began, but stopped as Dean shook his head.

“Don’t, Cas. I already told you that if you were at risk, we’d leave. I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you again.”

Castiel’s eyes dropped down to the pavement and he didn’t raise them again, as if too weighed down by guilt. They made their way home silently, the full, romantic moon that illuminated the street mocking them from above.

~~***~~

The dawn was weak and misty on the horizon as Baby purred smoothly along the tarmac. Her trunk was full, weighed down by every part of Dean’s life that he could fit into the assorted duffle bags and suitcases he’d dredged up from the closets of his apartment. Castiel, of course, didn’t have anything to pack, and thanks to Dean’s itinerant space lifestyle he was rather used to packing and living with little, so it hadn’t taken them more than a couple of hours to get everything in order.

The only thing, Dean realized with a pang, that Castiel made sure that they tucked into Baby before they left, was the thin, worn comfort blanket that Jack had gifted him with.

Castiel hadn’t said a word the whole time, and Dean was too stressed to be chatty, so silence had lain heavily between the two of them for several hours by the time the sun rose. Dean wasn’t sure where he was driving to. He was just putting some space between them and Merritt Island, and doing his best to ignore the tiny, irritating voice in the back of his head that told him NASA could follow wherever they went.

If I can just get some distance between us and Merritt Island, Dean kept thinking, just give us some space to think, maybe we can shake them, find somewhere to go…

The sun had been above the horizon for nearly an hour by the time Dean pulled into a run-down gas station. He wanted to stretch his legs and get some coffee, and he needed to put some fuel in his beloved gas-guzzler of a car. Castiel didn’t move from his seat as Dean unclipped his seatbelt, letting it run back through his hand slowly. Dean looked over, observing the alien in the passenger seat as he stared resolutely at his knees, Jack’s blanket in hand. He sat stiffly, but his slowly twisting fingers gave away his feelings beneath the surface.

Leaving him to his silence for a minute, Dean ducked out of the car and quickly got Baby set to fill up while he stepped inside the gas station.

The clerk was about as disinterested as they came, so Dean didn’t think there was much chance that the guy would rat them out to NASA. Falling into paranoia was pretty easy though, so Dean quickly grabbed two coffees and some snacks, and headed straight up to pay. At the register, he noticed a display of brightly colored, simple flowers, as so many gas stations had on offer. They were there in order to save the skins of lovers who’d forgotten birthdays or stayed out just a bit too late, but they’d work for a lot of intentions, Dean figured. He tossed a bunch gently onto the counter, pulling off the paper label adorned with hearts that came with it.

It’s not like they’re gonna have a “Sorry NASA wants to kill you” sentiment, Dean mused. He’d probably have to use words for that part.

He pulled his phone out and attempted to call Sam. He needed to update his brother on what was going on; they all hung out once or twice a week without fail, and Sam would soon notice he’d disappeared. Even if they had to stay under the radar for a while, he didn’t want his little brother to worry. There was no answer, but as a busy lawyer, husband, and father, that wasn’t unusual for Sam. He’d call back when he had time.

Dean took his small haul back out to the car, finished up the gas, and slid back into the driver’s seat. Cas hadn’t moved so much as an inch, it seemed.

“Hey,” Dean said softly, leaning over to nudge him in the shoulder. “Got you some coffee. And these.”

Castiel tilted his head curiously. He put Jack’s blanket aside, taking the coffee cup with a small smile, before turning his gaze down to his lap. Dean had self-consciously tossed the slim bunch of synthetically colored daisies and small sunflowers onto Castiel’s thighs. It was a sad bunch, really, true gas station fare, but in the moment, it had seemed like a sweet idea.

It took Castiel a minute to work out what a cup holder was for, but once he’d mimicked Dean in placing the hot, sh*tty coffee down in the space between them, he picked up the flowers from his lap. The plastic sleeve they were wrapped in crinkled loudly as he rotated them in his hands, looking at the bright petals reverently.

“I’ve seen this custom in movies,” he said solemnly, looking at Dean from the side of his eye, suspicious. “I believe it usually means that you have done something wrong, or that you accidentally had sex with a supporting character while the main pairing was going through some deliberately orchestrated trauma.”

Dean couldn’t help it; he snorted and elbowed Castiel in the ribs. “Asshole. They also just mean I love you and I’m sorry that NASA wants to chase us down.”

“That’s a very specific meaning, Dean. How did the gas station know?”

“You’re starting to get sassy, ya know that?” Dean grinned, before leaning over impulsively to press his lips to Castiel’s cheek. “I just wanted to make you smile. That’s the real meaning of them, under all the other, more specific meanings that they can have.”

Castiel plucked a fallen petal from the leg of his dress pants, bringing it right up to his face with such intense curiosity that Dean couldn’t help but smile. His smile turned into a full-blown laugh as Castiel’s tongue darted out, licking at the petal. He pulled a face.

“What, no good?” Dean asked, grinning.

“Definitely nicer to look at,” Castiel confirmed. He looked over at Dean, the softness of his expression taking all the amused bluster out of Dean’s sails. “Thank you. They’re beautiful and they did make me smile. You are a good mate, Dean.”

“You’re welcome, Cas.”

Ignoring the fact that he was flushing slightly, Dean stole one of the alien’s hands to entwine with his own, stretched across the bench seat of the Impala. With the heel of his other hand on the wheel, Dean pulled back out onto the highway. He fully intended to just keep driving until he was just too tired to go any further. He’d do that every day if they had to, until they worked out something better.

Baby ate up the miles, the sun tracking overhead as they made their way directly west on 1-10, through Tallahassee and Pensacola, on toward Louisiana. The little bunch of flowers sat in Castiel’s lap the whole way, and when Dean finally grew too exhausted to drive further, Castiel carried them protectively into a tiny, run-down motel just outside New Orleans.

Dean’s back was announcing with every movement that he’d been driving for ten hours. He’d pushed it, making the trip with only brief gas breaks and fifteen minutes at a drive-thru for dinner, so he lowered himself to the bed and flopped back on it, letting out a delighted “Oof” sound.

The room wasn’t bad, given the out-of-the-way, by-the-hour nature of the motel. It was faded, and brown, and had some odd stains, but it didn’t smell like a trucker’s armpit or have a chalk outline of a person on the floor, so in Dean’s mind, it could have been worse.

Castiel viewed the small room with much the same intense expression that he did everything else, of course. Once he’d studied every peeling panel of wallpaper and observed the runs in the carpet, he finally lowered his flowers to the table and came to perch self-consciously on the bed near Dean’s chest, looking down at him.

“I know this is your decision,” he began slowly, “to leave Merritt Island and to try and hide from NASA. But I just want to be clear that I would never ask this of you, Dean.”

The ancient mattress gave a desolate creak as Dean rolled onto his side, reaching to take one of Castiel’s hands. “I know, Cas,” he said. “But here’s the thing. You remember when I told you that you were family?”

Castiel nodded, his eyes finding Dean’s.

“Well, that means that I won’t give up on you, Cas. That means that no matter what comes at us, no matter who NASA sends after us, I’m not going to leave you. I want us to be together—we got through so much already, there’s no way I’m letting anything come between us now. For better or for worse, Cas, I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe. It’s what family does.”

Castiel’s blue orbs were unblinking as he followed Dean’s lips for every word. “You would give up everything, your job, your friends, your other family… for me?”

“I already have, Cas.”

The alien looked overwhelmed, blinking mournfully. “I have so little to offer you in return.”

Dean reached across, grabbing the end of Castiel’s tie and tugging him forward so that they were face to face, forehead pressed to forehead as the alien leaned over. Dean grinned up into his space as he held on tight to the dark blue fabric. “You flew through the universe for me.”

They didn’t talk about it any further, as there seemed to be better ways to express their emotions which didn’t involve either of them having to force out words.

On the whole, Dean found it easier to express himself physically or display affection by showing rather than saying. So, the fact that Castiel was more comfortable with him again since Dean had spent time proving that his scars meant nothing was definitely a relief.

Not that he wouldn’t tell the alien that he loved him, that he was in love with him, any time it felt right or that Castiel needed to hear it. But Dean preferred to say it in his own ways.

Like with coffee, and flowers, and his tongue.

As Castiel leaned over him on the bed, Dean slipped his finger under the knot of the tie and began to ease it off, showering small kisses onto Castiel’s lips.

The alien grinned against him. “Your willingness to mate frequently pleases me. I believe if you were Enoch like me, you would produce a lot of eggs. You’d be prized for it, I’d definitely have to fight others for you.”

Dean laughed, dropping the tie down to the floor as he began to slide his fingers under the shoulders of Castiel’s trench coat. “Eggs, huh? How does that work—I thought you guys just, y’know, all had both parts.”

Castiel grew impatient, standing so he could ditch his coat and suit jacket himself. “Correct, we do. The primary mate produces eggs internally, and once they are fertilized by the secondary mate they are laid and protected. Once they grow bigger, they are inserted into the secondary mate, who carries the parasites to term. Both of the pair are capable of both roles.”

“Parasites?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “That’s not a nice way to talk about your kids, in our language.”

Castiel tilted his head to the left, working on his belt. “I refer only to the method by which we feed the young; they draw sustenance from the secondary mate’s bloodstream, internally.”

Dean looked thoughtful for a moment. “I was going to say that sounds really bizarre to me, but actually, now that I’m thinking about it… the human way is pretty weird, too. Charlie was joking about us having wholphin kids; I don’t think egg parasites occurred to her.”

“Ahh, yes, wholphins,” said Castiel. “Bottlenose Dolphin and False Killer Whale hybrids. No, not the same method of mating by any means.”

Dean slid his eyes up and down the suddenly naked alien that now stood beside the bed appreciatively. Just as eager, he lifted his hips to join Castiel in discarding clothing while he laughingly responded, “How do you know what a wholphin is? You’re the same guy who had never met a cup holder and who licked a sunflower this morning.”

Castiel grinned as he clambered onto the bed, straddling Dean’s thighs and immediately burying his lips and teeth into the soft side of Dean’s neck. “I learned a lot from the Discovery channel. Now, enough talking.”

Dean’s second laugh tumbled into a groan under Castiel’s ministrations, and they didn’t talk for a while after that. They were slow and playful, taking their time as Dean opened Castiel wide and held his hips up above him. Castiel rode him hard, grinding sweet figure-eights against Dean’s pelvis as they shakily pulled each other apart.

When they were both fully spent, sighing and weary, Castiel lay down next to Dean and snuggled into his side.

They both laughed as Dean’s stomach rumbled loudly.

“You should eat, mate,” Castiel murmured, amused.

Dean stretched his arm over the top of Castiel’s chest, nuzzling his head down onto the alien’s ribs like a pillow. He was warm, and deliciously sated, and he just wanted to stay in their crappy motel and forget the rest of the world for a few more hours. “Maybe we can get a pizza delivered instead of moving,” he suggested.

Castiel hummed in the affirmative and twisted his torso over to grab Dean’s jeans from the floor, ignoring Dean’s grumbling as his pillow moved. Fishing the cell phone out of the back pocket, he handed it to Dean.

“Huh,” Dean said, blinking blearily at the screen. “Looks like I missed a call from Sam while we were distracted. I left him a message while I was in the gas station this morning, telling him to call me, so he’s probably just checking in.”

Still feeling lazy, Dean lay the phone down on Castiel’s chest and hit the button to play the two voicemail messages that Sam had left, leaving it on speaker.

“Hey Dean, sorry I missed you,” came the first message. “I’m headed to court right now, so just text me if you needed anything serious. Are we going to be on for Sunday dinner at your place, like usual? Or do you want some time with Cas? I know stuff is gonna be different now you have him living with you and Gabe and I don’t wanna crowd you, so… just let us know, yeah? Catch you soon.”

The phone on Castiel’s chest moved as the alien sighed, and Dean searched for his hand, squeezing it into his own. “Don’t worry about it, Cas. I’ll talk to him. It’ll be fine, he’ll understand.”

Dean’s phone clicked over to the next message as he was pressing a reassuring kiss to the back of Castiel’s knuckles.

“Dean.” Sam sounded sharper that time, an undercurrent of worry and concern laced into his tone. “Call me as soon as you get this, I’m really worried—the police came to my office, looking for you.”

Dean’s mouth went dry, and he pushed up off Castiel’s chest onto his elbow, wide-eyed. Castiel gripped tighter at his hand, crushing it slightly uncomfortably.

There was a pause, and when Sam’s voice returned, it was much more measured and lawyerly, his words chosen very carefully, as if suddenly remembering himself.

“I told them that I haven’t seen you in a few days, of course, that you were spending some time with your new boyfriend, and I didn’t expect to hear from you for a while. If—if that’s not right, then call me. Otherwise…”

Sam trailed off for a moment, Dean and Castiel looked at each other, silently acknowledging that Sam had set up a lie for them to follow, and that he was suggesting not to contact him. Or likely, that they shouldn’t use Dean’s phone at all.

“They’re saying that you hacked into NASA servers and tampered with footage of the Ares mission, that you stole the government secrets contained in the files and you’re on the run.”

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

It took Dean a couple of hours, two Wal-marts, and a lot more patience than he would usually have had to obtain, charge, and set up a simple straight-talk phone. Castiel watched him curiously throughout. Much like with Dean’s smartphone, he seemed to understand the technology after only a brief inspection, and yet still be somewhat entertained by the process.

Once they were on the road again, as early as Dean could manage the next morning, he pulled out the burner phone and dialed Sam’s number from memory.

“Hello?” his brother answered, sounding suspicious.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Dean! I didn’t know it was you, unknown number.”

“Yeah, figured it was wise to get a throwaway phone,” Dean admitted.

Sam was silent for a moment before he spoke again. “So, it’s true, then?”

“No, but no one is going to believe me over NASA.”

Dean’s eyes slid over to Castiel as they drove, Sam making a small hum of agreement in his ear. The alien raised one hand, offering a small wave to the phone.

“Cas says hi,” Dean said.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam responded, and Dean was pleased to hear a small smile in his brother’s voice. “How’s he doing? Is this—Well, I mean, this is about him, right? I’m assuming.”

“Yeah,” said Dean dryly, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the tarmac.

The alien seemed to have far better hearing than any human, so Dean had to assume that he could hear the conversation as clearly as he’d heard the one with Charlie on Friday night. He kept his gaze on the road but didn’t make any effort to disguise what they were speaking about.

“NASA captured and tortured him when he arrived, so I have zero reasons to believe their intentions toward him are any better this time,” Dean said solemnly.

“Right,” Sam said quietly.

“Obviously, that’s—” Dean flicked a look quickly over to Castiel again, unable to help himself.

The alien looked tired this morning, which was odd in itself, as he never had to sleep. He leaned against the window of the Impala, the bags under his eyes more pronounced, looking a little pale. Stress, Dean assumed, sadly.

“—Well, that’s not acceptable to me,” he finished firmly.

“Yeah, man, of course. I mean, I’ve met him Dean, I know he doesn’t belong in cage or some laboratory. He’s a person.”

“Yeah, tell NASA that.”

Sam exhaled slowly. “So, this is the choice you’re making? Cas is the choice you’re making, I guess?”

“I mean, yeah. Is there a problem with that, Sam?” Dean raised his eyebrow slightly in reaction, though he knew Sam couldn’t see him. His tone, he was sure, carried enough.

“No, no. God, Dean. I wouldn’t expect anything else, dude, not really. I just—well, never saw you settling down, not after you did the astronaut thing.”

Dean laughed, struck by the phrasing. “Can’t really call it settling down, Sam. We’re on the run from the Government and living out of Baby’s trunk.”

Sam’s dry laughter surprised Dean, breaking the tension.

“Yeah, guess that’s true. Well, I mean—good luck anyway, man. Congrats on happiness, I guess. Figures it’d take an alien to make an honest man out of my bachelor brother. Well, a half-honest man.”

“Criminal, but honest,” Dean added with a grin, before he fell solemn again. “Probably means you shouldn’t be talking to me though. Mister hot-shot lawyer. It’s not going to look good.”

Sam was quiet for a long time, the Impala rumbling another half mile before he spoke up. “You know Gabriel is never going to get over this. I’ll be forced to join his tinhat brigade now.”

“When you’re right, you’re right.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asked, after a suspicious bout of throat clearing. “Ash?”

“Yeah, I figure he’s my best bet, if I can persuade him to help. Then… I dunno. Drive around, see if we can hunker down somewhere. Bobby, maybe.”

“You’ll keep in touch when you can, right?”

“Yeah, ’course.” Dean wasn’t tearing up; he wasn’t.

“Can I speak to Cas?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess. I mean, sure. Here—” Dean looked over to the passenger side, where a lethargic Castiel was still slumped against the window. He was already looking at Dean, and reached his hand out for the phone, looking mildly concerned.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said.

Sam spoke for a minute, and Castiel occasionally nodded.

“Of course I will, Sam… Yes. Very much…. It is different but—the concepts are the same, no matter what. You needn’t worry—yes. I understand.”

Dean drove along, listening to the one-sided conversation while Sam, very obviously, grilled the alien on his intentions. Dean couldn’t help but grin goofily, wondering how many years his little brother had waited to have that conversation with somebody. It probably wasn’t quite the same talk that he thought it’d be.

“I would like that, if things work out,” Castiel was saying, before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “What if it has already happened, Sam?”

Dean wasn’t exactly trying to eavesdrop, but the conversation was happening only a couple of feet to his right, so he didn’t have much choice. Something made Sam’s voice raise, but Dean couldn’t make it out. Felt like perhaps he shouldn’t try. Even an alien, he figured, should have his privacy, as much as he could give it to him.

“Do you think it will make Dean happy?” Castiel was asking quietly. “Yes, Sam. Of course. I hope so too.”

Sam talked for a moment more, something excited in his tone.

Castiel looked over to Dean, catching his eye and nodded. “Thank you Sam. I’m sure he’ll call you. I’ll tell him you said goodbye, and to only call when it’s safe.”

Dean nodded, reaching out his hand for the phone as Castiel hung up. He looked down at the cheap plastic device, running his thumb over it for a moment. Then, rolling down Baby’s window, he tossed it outside.

Both Castiel and Dean watched the plastic smash and bounce off across the tarmac, pieces of phone scattering all across the highway.

Like the pieces of Dean’s life.

Strangely, he found he didn’t much care.

The scenery was slowly changing around them as they headed farther west. They journeyed along the backroads that ran parallel to I-10 whenever possible, only using the highway when it became the only route toward Texas. Dean was hoping he’d have the stamina to make it to San Antonio by nightfall, and then fingers crossed to be well into New Mexico by the next night. He liked to drive, that wasn’t a problem, but his body wasn’t quite as young as it had been the last time he had driven across the country, and space was hard on the bones.

Hopefully, with a few drive-thru stops and some gas station stretches, they’d make it.

Dean pushed Baby’s gas tank almost to dry before he allowed them to stop, heading off the interstate for a mile so that he could take them to a sun-bleached, single-pump gas station with authentic Mexican tacos and surprisingly good wi-fi.

Castiel stretched his tentacles around the parking lot while Dean grabbed his laptop out of the trunk, quickly firing it up and seeing if he’d got an email from from Charlie in the temporary box she’d set up for him.

There was nothing.

He tried not to let that worry him.

Driving onward, they only had tumbleweed for company as Baby purred along through the morning heat, the highway totally empty.

Dean offered Castiel a small smile. “Just me and you now, Cas.”

Castiel gave him an odd little smile. “Yes, for now I suppose. You mentioned some names to Sam—Ash, and Bobby? Where are we going?” He tilted his head, turning his full blue gaze at Dean and looked curious, despite his tired slump. His eyes squinted firmly as if it was the first time he’d thought to ask.

“You remember the owner of the Roadhouse, Ellen?” Dean asked. “Ash is her son, Jo’s twin. Childhood friend of mine. He’s smart—like, crazy, hyper-intelligent, you-smart. NSA watchlist smart. He’s at Caltech right now doing a second PhD.”

Castiel squinted. “If he’s watched by people, why would we go there?”

Pulling Baby to the right so that he could change lanes, Dean looked over at Castiel and grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. They’ll never catch him. He’s way too good for that.”

The alien looked somewhat unconvinced but allowed Dean to continue.

“Anyway, he can make us some new identities… he’s definitely done that kind of stuff before. Then I can get a job somewhere, a bank account, that kinda stuff, without raising flags to NASA.”

A look of underlying distress was coming over Castiel again, and Dean reached out to grab his hand. “Hey, are you okay this morning? You just seem…off. Tired and stuff. Anything I can do to help?”

Castiel looked down at Dean’s hand, smiling at it as Dean rubbed his thumb across Castiel’s knuckles. “I am… unwell, perhaps. Weary. But I will be fine, in time. Earth is just… challenging, right now, in some ways.”

Immediately, Dean was full of concern. Weary? Unwell? Earth was challenging? Was being here making Cas sick, or worse? He frowned across at the alien, and Castiel gave him a reassuring pat on the thigh, as if he could hear Dean’s thoughts as clearly as anything else.

“Don’t worry about me. I will be well again. I think—I think perhaps I might take a nap.”

Dean blinked. The alien spent nights curled up with him, but sleeping seemed to be more of an optional hobby than a necessity. “Uh—right. Sure. Here, why don’t you, uh—”

The road was fairly clear apart from them, so Dean pulled the Impala quickly over to the side of the highway and stopped, idling the engine for just a moment as he showed Castiel how to shuck off his trench coat and roll it up, to use as a pillow against the window. With Jack’s worn comfort blanket pulled up over his shoulder, the alien looked smaller, paler, and weaker.

Cas smiled gratefully across at Dean and leaned sideways against the glass, bringing his feet up onto Baby’s wide front bench.

Usually, Dean would have fussed at anyone who put their shoes up on Baby’s pristine, 1967 leather, but just this once, he decided to let it go.

~~***~~

“Welcome to San Antonio,” Dean commented as he pulled Baby up into the designated space for their motel room. “It’s hot as f*ck. Not a bad city though, otherwise.”

Castiel blinked slowly. “Earth is a planet of very moderate temperature. I’m sure we shall be fine here.”

Dean took a moment to open and close his mouth, before merely shaking his head with a grin and getting out of the car. “C’mon, Cas. I could use a shower and a nap before dinner.”

They had driven on all day, with only brief stops for Dean to check for contact from Charlie. A bothersome weight had settled in the back of his mind when he hadn’t heard from her, but all he could do was to let it go, until he got some news.

Slamming the Impala’s driver side door behind him, Dean jogged quickly around to the passenger side to open the door for Castiel and offer him a gentlemanly hand up out of the car. The alien smiled at him in amusem*nt—probably recognizing the custom from movies, as he did so many other things—and took the offered hand, twining it in his. Castiel’s other hand held the shabby blanket he’d gripped all morning.

Dean felt an odd pressure around his waist, like an invisible but distinct additional appendage pulling him just a little closer to the alien’s side. He grinned knowingly as he popped the trunk to grab his duffle bag, but didn’t mention it.

The motel room was fairly par-for-the-course. Spanish style architecture, as was quite aesthetically popular in San Antonio, met the grunginess of the highway. The outer walls of the low, red pitched-roof buildings were once a creamy yellow, but now dusted with sand and dark streaks of car fumes. The interior was clean, neat, and simple; a double bed, simple pine furniture, a carpet without noticeable infestations. Not bad.

Closing the door behind them, Dean guided Castiel to the edge of the bed.

He realized that he was acting like some kind of fussing mother hen; he’d always been the same with Sam when his brother had been younger and was sick. Sam had liked it as a small child, of course, but the older he got the more he fought it. Castiel didn’t fight him at all, to Dean’s secret delight; he indulged Dean with warm smiles as he was herded to the bed, encouraged to lay back, had his boots removed, and was tucked in with the comforter before Dean began fussing with the motel’s tiny plastic tray of complimentary coffee. It didn’t matter that it was late evening, the sun already creeping its way to nothing; caffeine didn’t affect Castiel anyway.

Once the terrible cup of joe was made, Dean moved over to the bed and reclined himself on the remaining half, before offering the paper cup to Castiel.

“Here you go. Let’s see if this can perk you up a little.”

As the steam curled fragrantly from the black, mirror-like surface toward Castiel, he jolted and recoiled.

Dean blinked. “Hey—what’s up?”

“It—uh, the smell. It’s very unappealing,” Castiel confessed apologetically, lowering his eyes to the blue patterned bedding that spread across his lap.

“Really?” Dean took a deep sniff; instant granules, not the best, but still better than most space-coffee, which had been Castiel’s first love. “So I take you to Starbucks one time and you become a coffee snob, huh?” he teased.

Castiel’s eyes were wide as he turned bodily toward Dean, looking genuinely alarmed. “No! Please, do not think I am unappreciative of—”

“Hey, hey…” Dean soothed immediately, shifting the cup over to the nightstand so that he could return to Castiel, giving him his full attention. “What’s up, Cas? Something is wrong. You’ve been off all day and now you’re being weirdly jumpy with me. Where’s my happy, coffee-loving mate gone, huh?”

“I’m right here, Dean.” The alien’s attention dropped, and he picked at the blanket. Dean looked over at him, and he appeared a little fuzzy around the edges; two tentacles moved sinuously back and forth beneath the blanket, a nervous habit that to the unknowing eye made him look like he had four feet.

“Cas?”

“Yes?” Castiel sounded unsure and distant.

“Something is definitely up. You’re doing that thing again, where you don’t look quite solid.” Dean reached over, cupping Castiel’s jaw to turn his face toward him. “Last time that happened, you were upset because I was leaving Mars without you.”

Castiel gave a little regretful nod and a tiny smile, before he shook his head and arms quickly. It looked like a small shiver passed through him, but Dean thought it was likely just Castiel trying to pull himself together.

“Is it because you’re worried about NASA? About the specialist? Because I am too. You don’t need to hide it.”

Castiel actually gave a little laugh. “I suppose I should be worried about that, yes. I’ve actually been a little preoccupied with something else, and I—well, I am unsure how you will take it.”

That had Dean’s full attention, not that he wasn’t already fully focused on Castiel. But a bustle of tension built up behind his neck, and he moved to stand from the bed.

“Alright. Well, how about I call and order some food. I’ll drink that coffee—” Dean paused to grab the paper cup of coffee from the nightstand, planning to go to the other side of the room to put some sugar in it. “—and you can stay sitting there and try to tell me what’s wrong. Because there is absolutely nothing that you can’t tell me, Cas.”

“I know that, Dean,” Castiel said. He smiled very contentedly, and the two watched each other as Dean fixed up his coffee. “I have shared everything with you, with no adverse reactions from you. I am only thinking that this will be a bit of a shock for you.”

Dean paused in his stirring, glaring slightly at the alien. “I was worried today, in the car when we were driving. You look sick, honestly, and you’re weak and quiet. I was afraid that Earth was hurting you somehow.”

“Not at all,” Castiel reassured immediately. “Earth is a very acceptable environment for me. My body is highly adaptable, but Earth exists within a very narrow belt of space around your sun that is perfect for your type of life to have evolved. My own needs are not dissimilar, though I can accept a much more dramatic variation in temperature.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, dropping the plastic spoon into the trash can. He usually preferred his coffee unsweetened, but that cup was crappy enough to benefit from the small packet of sugar he’d used. “We call it the Goldilocks Zone. It’s kind of like a sweet spot in a solar system; It’s what means we can have liquid water here.”

“That’s a very odd term. We call it ascha aala…” Castiel looked thoughtful. “I suppose that would be… ‘Optimum place’? In your words?”

Dean nodded. “Makes sense. Goldilocks is a nursery rhyme. Something about bears and oatmeal, I’ll show you sometime.”

“Alright. Though I think in this case, I may prefer the Enochian. Much more logical.”

“Okay, Spock.” Dean grinned, moving over to his duffle bag near the door, coffee in one hand. “So, what you’re saying is, our planets are different but… similar zone. It’s okay for you here.”

Castiel simply ignored the reference, resting his intense blue gaze heavily on Dean instead. “Yes. Mars was preferable to me only due to its emptiness. But I would rather be anywhere with you.”

“Sappy,” Dean said, still grinning as he retrieved his phone, planning on making an order for Chinese food. “So, what’s wrong then if you aren’t sick? I need to know how to help you.”

Despite his pallor and the way that he slumped, Castiel gave Dean a wide, nervous smile. Beneath the blanket which Dean had tugged up to his waist, his rogue tentacles still shifted.

“There’s nothing for you to do. Not currently, at least. I am gravid, Dean.”

“You’re what now?” Dean blinked, raising an eyebrow.

“I am carrying fertilized eggs,” Castiel said solemnly, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face.

Dean’s brain applied the brakes instantly, and he white-knuckled his phone part-way through a google search for local Chinese restaurants.

Eggs. Fertilized ones. So…

“You’re pregnant?” blurted Dean.

“Gravid. I’m not carrying developing offspring, I am carrying eggs.”

“Do I look like a biologist to you?”

Castiel squinted, confused. “No Dean, you’re an aerospace engineer.”

Dean sat down sharply. Or, more accurately, his knees gave out and he fell, but there just happened to be a lucky chair at the edge of the room next to the microwave, where his butt landed.

Castiel was—they were—

Holy sh*t.

“Dean?” Castiel said. “Are you alright? Is this… bad news?”

The alien looked so apprehensive, so fearful, his fingers clasped desperately in front of his chest, that Dean’s heart broke for just the few seconds he’d accidentally allowed that fear to develop.

“Oh f*ck—Cas, no. Its unexpected news. I have a million questions. But…” Dean stood, forcing his jello legs to stop being little bitches and cross the distance between them. “It is very, very good news.”

“So, you are happy, then?” Castiel asked again, his caution giving way to relief and a wide-gummy smile. “You would not reject your offspring? Sometimes, my kind will—”

“No.” Dean frowned immediately. He perched on the edge of the bed next to Castiel, pulling him in close to his chest and wrapping his arms around him almost forcefully. “Your species might call them parasites but f*ck that. I’m not your species, and I say they’re babies, and they’re mine—ours. I’d never reject them. I am happy, Cas, as long as you are.”

Dean felt the alien’s huge smile against his neck, felt his nodding against his throat.

Cas wasn’t sick, wasn’t dying. Cas was pregnant.

I’m going to be a dad. A freakin’ tentacle daddy.

That was… terrifying, honestly.

But also exciting, Dean thought, cautiously. It was allowed to be exciting, right? He loved Cas, and Cas loved him, and who said they couldn’t have a family if they were lucky enough for it to happen? Dean had always loved kids, always wanted to be a family kind of man. He thought his chances for that were long gone, but now…

“Are you happy, Cas?” Dean whispered nervously down into his thick, dark hair as he held him. “Did you want this?”

Castiel’s nodding against his throat sped up, a smiling flutter of nods in the crook of Dean’s neck. “Yes. I always wanted it. I didn’t think it would happen.”

“Me too.” Dean smiled, kissing along Castiel’s temple. “I’m definitely going to need you to explain how this whole egg-incubating thing works to me in a bit more detail, now. We have to work out how this is going to work with me being human.”

Castiel laughed, but it was a tense, sad sound. “Yes, I suppose so.”

He rested his head against Dean’s shoulder and for a minute they just sat, on the creaky mattress in the too-warm motel, holding each other. Adjusting. Changing. Adapting to what they now were.

Once a while had passed and his heart rate had calmed, Dean took a deep breath and stood up. He pushed off his boots with his toes and discarded them near the door, so that he could crawl up the bed next to Castiel. The alien still seemed to be buzzing with nerves, despite having confessed, and Dean realized that this was no easier for Castiel than for him; there were too many variables, too many unanswered questions, not to mention the fear that Dean would reject this, reject him, reject their… children, Dean supposed.

Things seem clearer, once he allowed them that label.

Smiling as reassuringly as he could, Dean reached out to snuggle himself into Castiel’s side. He pressed a kiss to his cheek, before turning his eyes curiously down to Cas’s stomach, as if there would be something to see.

Dean took a deep breath, and placed his hand down softly on Castiel’s abdomen.

When he looked back up, the alien’s eyes were shiny with relief.

“I’m scared,” Dean admitted. “Terrified, actually. I don’t know how this is going to work. Can it work? You’re going to have to explain everything to me like I’m an idiot, okay?”

“That’s okay,” Castiel soothed, his eyes softening to a gentle, seashore blue at Dean’s motion and words. “I’m afraid too. I’ve been worrying about this ever since I felt them, if there’s any way of this working.”

After a few more minutes of careful breathing and calming, Dean raised his head and looked seriously at Cas, a million questions on his tongue. “Alright. I need to know some things, Cas.”

Castiel nodded.

“You said that one Enoch produces the eggs. Then once they’re ready the other one, uh…” Dean trailed off, unsure.

Castiel shifted in the bed and gave Dean another solemn nod, a particular one that Dean had come to recognize as increasing the likelihood that his alien lover was about to lecture him in some way, often with words he didn’t know the meaning of. Castiel seemed to have a fondness for accurate terms, and Dean mused that somewhere along his route to learning English, he appeared to have swallowed a dictionary.

“Enoch are ovolarviparious, which means that the embryos develop into their first stage within the eggs, inside of me. Once they are deposited into the second partner—oviposition—they hatch rapidly, usually right after deposition. The egg sacks are expelled by the second partner, and the young attach themselves—” Castiel paused just long enough to imitate small biting motion, using his fingers to mimic big teeth in a way that was both adorable and alarming. “—to pull nutrition from the bloodstream of the parent.”

“Yeah, so I understood a few of those words, but it’s the part where they go into the second Enoch that I’m worried about, Cas. Because I’m not one,” Dean pointed out redundantly. “Maybe I’ve seen too many Alien movies, but, uh…”

Castiel’s brow creased curiously. “Alien movies? Are these ones I should watch?”

“Probably not, honestly,” said Dean, cringing as he recalled the gruesome ends almost everyone met onscreen. “But… me? No Enoch parts?”

Cas smiled patiently, a little more hopeful. “I can do my best, alone. The primary partner is usually completely drained from forming the eggs; my species could not survive if one partner did everything. But the young are too small to go out in the world.”—Cas reached for Dean’s hand as he spoke, and with one finger he softly traced a circle about half the size of his palm onto Deans skin—"About so big. They need protection, until they have approximately tripled in size.”

Dean’s stomach was clenching, and his jaw was tight with fear and concern over things he simply didn’t understand. But, at the sight of the tiny circle Cas drew, his breath caught.

“How big are the eggs now?” he asked, barely more than a whisper.

Castiel’s finger trailed a much smaller circle on Dean’s palm, a fingernail in size. “Like so. They grow very fast. Enoch reproduce in days, not months like humans.”

“Days?” Dean was dizzy. He needed air. Or whiskey. Or something.

Castiel nodded slowly. His eyes rose up from their hands to rest on Dean’s face, and Dean saw that a lot of his fear was still there.

“I am sorry, Dean. This is my fault. I should have thought about this. But I just didn’t consider that our two species would be able to—”

“Cas.” Dean cut him off quickly, raising his hands to the alien’s face, gently splaying his fingers on each side of his neck. “It’s okay. Calm down. This is okay—it’s bad timing. It’s terrifying. We have a lot to work out. But it’s okay… be happy. You’re allowed to be happy. As soon as I get over the shock, I will be too. I promise.”

The warm air of the motel room settled around them, the noise of the overworked air conditioner seeming far too loud in the quiet. They breathed, together. In and out. Slowly, again and again.

Once he was certain that he wasn’t going to choke, or cry, or scream, Dean shifted his weight and sat up. He crossed his legs on the mattress, turning to face Castiel’s side, and gently laid his hands across the reclined alien’s stomach. He smiled down at it—at them, his own blood—for a moment, before he looked back up to Castiel.

“Cas,” he said, “lay it out for me simply. I always wanted to be a father, and now that I have the chance, I want to be one with you. How do we get this to work? Because what I’m hearing is that laying these eggs is going to drain you so bad that if you tried to carry the babies, it could kill you. So, tell me if there’s anyway I can help, working with, y’know—” Dean gestured vaguely at himself. “—what I’ve got here.”

“You have a bloodstream, which is really all that is needed,” Cas said nervously. “But I won’t force you, Dean. It would be painful and draining, and we’d have to extract the parasites—the babies,” Castiel hastily corrected himself at Dean’s raised eyebrow. “—ourselves, before they tried to burrow out of you.”

“Son of a bitch. ‘Extract’ and ‘burrow’,” Dean echoed weakly. “Definitely words I was hoping not to hear. Is it rude to drink around expectant mothers? I need whiskey for this conversation.”

Castiel gave Dean a narrow-eyed glare. “Would you like me to tell you what producing eggs feels like?”

Dean had only been half-serious about the whiskey, but even so, he fought down a sudden urge to say, “Yes dear!” and massage Castiel’s feet.

Castiel sighed. “I believe that once in their parasite stage, the young would be able to attach themselves to you internally without much trouble. They could feed by affixing themselves to the wall of a human colon, I am confident. If that is too much for you, I will take them, Dean.”

“How much effort would it take for you to just crudely say that you’re gonna stick the eggs up my butt?” Dean grumbled, his cheeks clenching involuntarily.

Castiel sniffed, looking mildly offended. “Technically they’re going much further than your butt, Dean.”

Dean dropped his head into his hands, slowly rubbing his fingers across his face and back over his hair, ending with them behind his neck. His eyes squeezed shut and he took a minute, just processing, trying to remember to breathe.

Castiel’s hand came over to squeeze his shoulder. He was quiet, no judgement in his low voice as he said, “I will do it, Dean. I am prepared to. I do not expect you to help.”

And Dean knew that Cas would. He would take the risk on himself, and he wouldn’t even resent Dean for it. But Dean would—Dean would never forgive himself if he lost Castiel just because he was squeamish about how this was going to work.

“No, Cas. They’re my babies too. I’ll do it.”

~~***~~

Morning in San Antonio arrived far earlier than Dean wanted it to. He and Castiel were curled around each other in the bed. Dean was sweating like a bitch; Castiel was throwing off heat like a furnace, yet he had about nine-tenths of the blanket clutched around his front, like he was trying to keep his stomach extra warm.

They had talked for hours.

Dean had to convince Castiel that him taking the parasites was the right thing to do—the winning argument had eventually been that if Cas didn’t make it, how was Dean supposed to know how to raise them alone? Who knew how many human traits and alien traits they would have? Eventually convinced, they had hashed out the gory biological details, which hadn’t been as bad as Dean expected. He could take some pain, some weakness, some risk, for his family. That was no question.

There would never, ever be a question about how far Dean Winchester would go for his family.

Once they’d got that out of the way, Dean had finally gotten around to asking Castiel the most important questions: How many eggs were there? Would Dean be able to feel them before they hatched? What should they name them?

Those questions had taken up the rest of their evening, interspersed with Dean doting on Cas, trying to make him as comfortable as he could. He’d massaged his shoulders, elevated his feet, kissed every part of him he could reach. He’d run a hot bath in the motel’s tiny, plastic tub that they’d somehow managed to share. He’d run to the store down the street, and brought back one of every chocolate bar he could find, at Castiel’s mere mention of desiring the taste of human sugar.

Dean was well and truly whipped already, he realized, and he was loving every second.

As long as he didn’t think about the “burrowing” too much, anyway.

He looked down at Castiel, who still curled onto the pillow in a deep, exhausted sleep. His hands covered his stomach, folded over the blankets protectively. A smile passed over Dean’s face, and he reached out to press his lips to the alien’s temple, before snuggling in next to him again, uncaring of the heat.

Dean wiggled his arm under Castiel’s own, sliding his hand around to Castiel’s stomach. Bizarrely, his abdomen pouched out a little at the bottom; the tiniest of bumps, reflected even in this form. Dean wondered how he looked in his true form—Castiel had said this whole process (or pregnancy, as Dean still thought of it,) would take only a couple of days.

But it was Dean’s stomach, he knew, that would bump out the most. The four babies that rested within would grow, stretching out his skin suddenly in the next few days as they tripled in size. That part didn’t bother him much. What were a few stretch marks? Human women had them all the time. They’d never bothered Dean on a female partner, and he knew Cas certainly wouldn’t care about them on him.

As long as the babies made it, and Cas was healthy… Dean would do anything.

He’d do anything to be a good Dad. Better than his own had ever been, he thought bitterly to himself, words he’d never voice.

He needed to let Sam know, somehow.

Castiel shifted under the blanket, his head turning back to look at Dean.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Morning, sunshine.”

The alien smiled and squeezed Dean’s hand affectionately as he found it on his stomach. “How are you feeling about everything this morning, mate?”

Dean allowed his grin to spread over his face. “I’m… excited, actually. Really excited. Scared a little bit, sure, but… We’re gonna have babies, Cas. Tiny little you and tiny little me. The past few days have been horrible, so I’m just gonna take this for the good news it is.”

Castiel smiled beatifically, nuzzling his face into Dean’s neck so that he could press a kiss to his skin. His lips were warmer than usual, just like the rest of him. “I am very glad to hear that. I’ll admit that I’m hopeful and excited, myself. Also, the thought of impregnating you with our young in a day or two is… interesting.”

Dean angled his head, grinning coyly down at the squirming alien against his side. “Is this you admitting to some kinda freaky breeding kink, Cas?”

“Maybe. Or partly, I guess,” Castiel shifted nervously against Dean’s side.

Dean, deciding that he was now awake enough to be a little sh*t, rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand, grinning widely. “Oh really? Please, do explain. In detail.”

To Dean’s utter delight, once challenged, Castiel met his eyes with the same utter lack of tact and shame that he had for almost everything else.

“My ovipositor is very sensitive. It will feel pleasant to me, I’m sure, to be depositing the babies into you.” Castiel announced with a small, pale smile. “But more than that, I have a very primal urge—which is perfectly natural for my species, from what I know—to pump you full of eggs and breed you. So I wouldn’t say it was a kink, as much as an instinct.”

Dean grinned, his teasing done, for the most part. “Well, I’m hardly someone that can shame anyone’s kinks, Cas. Mine aren’t exactly regular amongst humans… though they’re very convenient with you.”

Castiel smiled knowingly, leaning on his side beside Dean, and the bedding shifted tellingly around him as one thick, soft tentacle teased its way up the outside of Dean’s leg. The alien’s expression didn’t even change, much to Dean’s chagrin.

“Alright, you tease,” Dean grumbled. “I’m glad that you get to fulfill your ‘instinct’ at least this once. Not sure we can make it a regular thing though, I’m afraid. It’s still a little on the terrifying side.”

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel nodded solemnly. “I will do my best to ensure your comfort. I have secretions that will help numb you; you won’t feel the negative responses. I just don’t wish for you to be alarmed if I myself enjoy it rather a lot.”

Dean chuckled, reaching over to press his lips against the alien’s, smiling at the feeling as Castiel’s light stubble caught on his own. “You just go ahead and enjoy it, mate,” he murmured against Castiel’s skin. “You’ve indulged me before, why can’t I do the same for you.”

Despite the bags under his eyes and the pallor of his skin, Castiel’s grin was wolfish as he slid one hand across to wrap around Dean’s waist, pulling him in close. “Indulging you is one of my favorite things to do. Never think it’s a chore.”

They made out blissfully, easily, for long minutes, with one of Dean’s hands between their stomachs, idly stroking the small swelling at Castiel’s abdomen. Dean knew, in another form, in another way, their eggs were developing, fast and strong, zapping much of the alien’s strength. As he became more used to the idea, it was exciting.

Dean was so wrapped up in his thoughts, just enjoying the closeness of his boyfriend’s lips and his hand caressing the tiny bump, that he jumped slightly when Castiel’s tentacle slid over his skin. From his shin, across the back of his knee and up Dean’s thigh, the tip of it sat right at the hem of Dean’s boxers. It stroked back and forth, just an inch or so, working its way up under the fabric slowly, seeking permission.

“Cas—” Dean looked across at the alien, about to chastise him for even thinking of such a thing when he was so tired and weak. But the look in Castiel’s eyes stopped him. Hooded and dark, devouring Dean with his wide, strikingly-blue gaze, Castiel was the epitome of want. “Cas, you should be resting,” Dean managed quietly, unable to look away.

“I am resting,” Castiel’s lips purred against Dean’s jaw, his gravelly voice rumbling between them. “I’m reclining in bed. The eggs won’t even move. But my tentacles… they can still move.”

Dean wanted to protest, he really did. It didn’t seem right, for Castiel to give him this when he was stretched too thin to be particularly physical right then. He tried.

“Cas, it’s awesome that you want to please me even now. But I don’t need it. What I need is you to be healthy and rested.”

Castiel’s tentacle didn’t stop, the tip squirming up against Dean’s thigh, tight between the fabric of his boxers and the soft flesh at the top of his leg. His lips didn’t stop either, moving along Dean’s jaw to his neck.

“Dean,” Castiel said lowly, “Let me take care of my mate. I want to. Until I can breed you, let me be in control, let me give you this.”

Dean hummed out a low, delighted sound as the velvety kisses of eager suckers began to latch onto the inside of his thigh under the fabric. f*ck, they always felt so good…

He nodded, almost helpless; who was he to tell the alien what he could or couldn’t do.

He belonged to this unpredictable, beautiful, fascinating creature.

And Castiel was his, just as much.

Dean’s heart seemed full as his co*ck swelled between his legs, and it was a heady sensation. People always said that sex was just better with the right person; Dean had always dismissed it during his lifetime of one night stands and short, failed relationships. But everything with Castiel just felt like more, and not just because Castiel himself was Other.

Dean was encouraged from the bed with keen, firm tentacles, the tone of Castiel’s skin darkening and the haziness at his edges increasing as he allowed more of his true form to leak through. Sliding, slipping appendages surrounded Dean, herding him down to the floor, his underwear getting lost on the way.

Castiel sat up, his wide, hungry gaze fixed on Dean so firmly that he looked to be memorizing every gasp that fell from Dean’s lips.

The alien hadn’t even touched Dean’s dick yet, but he was achingly hard, weeping at the tip, needy for the feel of those tentacles dancing across his skin, on him, around him, in him.

“Cas…” Dean choked out, prepared to beg for the slick feeling of those alien limbs across his co*ck if he had to.

“Not yet,” Castiel growled, his voice throbbing with unfulfilled want. “Kneel, Dean. Close your eyes, hands behind your back, just feel… feel what I can do to you, mate, without even letting you touch.”

Castiel’s eyebrow raised suggestively, darkly, demandingly, on his human face and Dean let out an embarrassing, uncontrolled whimper. Who’d have thought an eyebrow alone could have such an affect? He was on his knees for that eyebrow; he’d kiss the dirty motel floor for it, he’d beg and plead for it.

Damn this alien and that filthy dom-eyebrow, Dean considered cloudily.

The tentacles slithered damply across his naked flesh, exposed in the cool morning air of the hotel room. They wrapped over his legs and arms, holding him in place, sliding across his stomach and tightening. Dean felt every sinuous movement, every sucker dragging across his skin, simultaneous and surrounding and hypnotic.

The concrete floor covered by thin, scratchy carpet did a number on Dean’s knees, but he barely felt it, lost in the sensations of the tightening tentacles around him. It was like his own personal, very particular form of shibari; wrapped up in Cas, in everything that was Cas, completely trusting and floating deliciously above it all.

The tentacles pulsed.

Dean gasped, his co*ck bobbing out in front of him, turgid and red, twitching with need.

“Cas…” he begged again. Weaker. “Please. Please, Cas.”

Castiel’s face may have been pale, his forehead still a little sweaty, but the deep satisfaction in his smile as Dean’s voice quivered couldn’t possibly be doubted.

“Yes, my beautiful mate…” Cas murmured, bringing in another tentacle from god-knows-where and teasing at the soaked tip of Dean’s co*ck with it, flicking gently at the head, the soft point teasing and pushing at Dean’s leaking slit. “Anything for you.”

Dean let out a loud, shameless moan as he felt the perfect, heavenly unison of a second tentacle sliding between his ass cheeks, easing them apart, beginning to wiggle and stretch at his hole even as the first tentacle began to curl its way slowly down and around his throbbingly erect co*ck.

“f*ck…” Dean panted, his chest heaving against the tentacles that held him tight, roped into place, completely at Castiel’s mercy.

The alien’s slick, clear secretions lubed everything up so well that there was barely a pull between his skin and Castiel’s own, everything deliciously smooth and slippery. The two of them oozed and dripped, and Dean could tell from Castiel’s blissed-out expression that in his current state, just watching Dean was more than enough for him.

“Ahh, ahhh—” Dean let out a soft, formless sound as the tentacle spreading his asshole began to force itself further beyond his rim, pulsing to stretch him wider even as it began to thrust in and out.

“Is that good, mate?” Castiel said, his voice otherworldly and deep, adding yet another curl of arousal to the building tension behind Dean’s belly button.

“Yes! Oh—f*ck, Cas—Yes, yes—" Dean babbled, his eyes alternating between squeezing helplessly closed and opening as wide as they could, trying not to miss a thing. “Cas! Mate, please—”

With a perfection of timing that Dean swore no human could manage, Castiel pistoned into his ass hard, drawing a scream from him at the same moment he began to tighten his grip on Dean’s dick, squeezing, rippling, drawing his org*sm closer as if it was at the alien’s exact beck and call.

Which it was, it seemed.

“Ahhh! Cas!” Dean vibrated, supernovas under his skin.

“Come for me, mate,” Castiel practically purred, sounding just as proud as he did demanding.

“f*ck!” Dean screamed, not a thought given to the rest of the motel. There was no holding back; even a gag would have made barely a difference.

Galaxies formed and died behind Dean’s eyelids as he came, pumping out long strings of white like hot comet tails through the air, decorating the side of the bed and the rough carpet; splattered like stars across the dark, navy blue bedding.

He flew, wrapped up in Castiel; who needed a starship, when he had the universe all to himself.

~~***~~

To: [emailprotected]

From: [emailprotected]

Subject: Urgent

+1 292 345 2952

Tomorrow night, 9 pm

URGENT

DO NOT RESPOND.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

After their delightfully sexy morning and a rather blissed out breakfast, Dean and Castiel got back on the road. They still had, by Dean’s best estimate, at least another twenty hours of driving to go before they’d reach Caltech, and more importantly, Ash. Dean wished he could give his old, mullet-sporting, anarchist friend some warning that he was on the way—but he was afraid to. If anyone was going to understand that though, it was Ash. Dean was going to push Baby as fast as he could and eat up the miles, but even with his most determined driving, they’d have to stop at least once more to sleep. They’d see a lot more of I-10 before the trip was done.

Dean fussed around Castiel, settling his alien baby-mama into the Impala with two coffees, the spare blanket from the back seat, and Jack’s comfort blankie spread out on top, for Castiel to wrap his fingers in. The alien seemed to be running hot but still feel cold. Dean repeatedly said that Castiel’s temperature must be from him being pregnant, and Castiel repeatedly corrected Dean that he was not, at all, pregnant; he was ‘gravid’. They’d driven at least two and half hours before Castiel realized that Dean was messing with him, and that no amount of reminding would get Dean to use the right term.

When he wasn’t busy being a turd, Dean was fussing over Castiel, and worrying excessively about the email he’d received from Charlie.

The alien was remarkably patient with him, though he seemed uncomfortable and moody for the most part. Dean did his best not to pay any heed to the periodic grumpiness; he was well aware that within a day or two at most, he’d be the one in Castiel’s spot.

And when he had four other beings leeching his energy from him he certainly planned on being grumpy too.

“Do you need anything, Cas?” Dean asked as they continued on down I-10, the midmorning Texas sun glinting harshly off the road sign they were passing, which announced they were about to be at the last gas station for a hundred miles.

“I don’t know.” Castiel sighed dramatically. “What might I need?”

Dean smirked quietly to himself, quickly wiping the expression away before Castiel could spot it. “Whatever you feel like. I know usually human food doesn’t do much for you, but if you’re feeling half as weak as you look, maybe you could try eating something?”

Raising his sweating forehead from the window (where it had left a tell-tale damp swipe,) Castiel glared across at Dean. “I look weak?”

“Gimme a break, grumpy-pants. You might well resemble the most handsome man in the world to me, but you still look like sh*t right now Cas, deal with it.”

The alien made a small hrmph-ing noise.

Dean ignored him, finding his foul mood more cute than anything. His own question had made him wonder, though.

“So, hey, if you don’t eat—because I’ve never seen you have to eat, only pick at stuff that interests you—how do you gain energy?” Dean asked curiously.

Castiel turned his drooping, tired eyes over to Dean once more, but luckily this time they came with a smile. “Enoch absorb energy the same way that humans do, Dean. But in a much more direct, simple form, without having to have it processed via plants and animals and taken in orally.”

Dean took his gaze from the empty road to look silently at Castiel, waiting.

“The sun.” Castiel at least smiled as he rolled his eyes. “I meant the sun, Dean. We absorb our energy directly from ultraviolet rays emitted by stars. Through our wings, actually. A little like your solar panels, I suppose, but organic.”

Dean blinked, looking quickly back to the road to check for oncoming cars before he returned his attention to the alien. “The sun,” he repeated, double-checking.

“Yes, Dean.”

“You absorb energy directly from the sun and convert it into useable resources for your body.”

“Exactly.”

Dean grinned. “So… you’re kinda like a plant, really.”

Castiel didn’t even answer, his mortally offended look more than enough.

Dean, however, thought that his deduction was hilarious, thumping the heel of his hand onto the Impala’s wheel and cackling loudly. “A plant! I’m dating a plant with really complex emotions!”

Castiel raised his gaze up to the ceiling of the Impala, as if wishing he could see the sky and universe beyond. “This, from a species with a frontal lobe the size of a hefty lemon.”

“You love my hefty lemon,” Dean grumbled, looking over to catch Castiel’s eye.

They held the confrontational look for only a moment before they both laughed. A big smile creased the corners of Castiel’s eyes, and Dean was so happy to see it there, given everything.

Reaching out to squeeze at Castiel’s hand, Dean checked the road once more before leaning over to press his lips fondly to Castiel’s temple, even as sweaty as it was.

“Please tell me if you’d like something, mate,” he said, deliberately using Castiel’s term to sweet-talk him into it. “Anything you want, we can stop. I should probably get gas anyway, just in case.”

Castiel smiled warmly, even if he was slumped against the Impala’s leather seat, curled slightly onto his side. “Alright, Dean. I could eat.”

“Good.” Dean smiled. “For the babies, if nothing else.”

The alien nodded, his eyes staying affectionately on Dean while he navigated them off the highway.

The gas station was sizeable. A shiny, well cared for store with an array of gas pumps, a small diner attached, and a motel out back, taking advantage of being the last drop of civilization for a stretch. They didn’t need the motel at this time of day, but Dean figured filling Castiel up with whatever he wanted and grabbing an early lunch wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Dean stopped by the gas station itself to top up Baby, making sure she had plenty to carry them on for a few more hours, before he drove over to park as close to the door of the tiny diner as he could. He didn’t mention as much to Castiel, of course, but he didn’t want the pale, shaky alien to have to walk very far.

He was sure Castiel knew, from the way he smiled softly, but at least by not bringing it up Dean could avoid butting heads with the alien’s independent streak.

Dean offered his hand as Castiel struggled out of the car, looking for all purposes as if he had just run a marathon. Deciding not to beat around the bush, Dean frowned as he looked at Castiel. “You look worse.”

“They’re getting bigger and taking more of my energy by the hour. I am worse,” Castiel said, sounding sour and looking annoyed.

“Do you know how much longer before they…hatch?” Dean guessed, not even sure if he was using the right word.

“They’ll hatch in you Dean, not me. But they should be ready for deposition in—“ Castiel tilted his head, looking thoughtful, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder what exactly his true form would be doing as he checked. “—approximately eleven and a half Earth hours.”

“Wow, that’s—very specific. And soon.”

Castiel nodded as they headed for the door of the diner, hand-in-hand. “By the time they were easily detectable, they had been growing within me for a couple of days.”

“So, no wonder you’re looking a little rough. You’ve been dealing with this for a few days already.”

“Yes. If I was a human, I believe I’d be bouncing on large, inflatable balls and drinking raspberry leaf tea in desperation right now.”

“You’d also have to be a woman,” Dean pointed out, holding open the diner door.

Castiel tilted his head thoughtfully as he passed by Dean. “Who says I’m not already? I’m certainly no less female than I am male, by your standards. My species has neither designation.”

“That’s true. Though you’ll upset a lot of conservatives with that attitude.”

“Perhaps I’ll have the young ones call me mama, just so I can watch the delightful chaos it would cause,” Castiel said. Only the tiniest quirk at the edge of Castiel’s mouth gave away that he was joking, and even then, Dean wasn’t certain he truly was.

There wasn’t a wait, the roads almost empty before lunch, and Dean and Castiel managed to nab a corner booth with a good view of the door. Handed two menus by their elderly waitress, Dean passed one over to Castiel with a wink.

“Well, mama, do any of these look appetizing?”

Smiling down at his menu, Castiel began studying the pictures like there was going to be some sort of diner-based test at the end.

Dean barely glanced over the menu, perfectly familiar with standard diner fare all over the US from his fairly itinerant upbringing with his father and Sam. Instead, he raised an arm to catch the eye of the waitress and signaled for her to bring coffee for them both.

Castiel was still staring.

“Need any help?” Dean asked quietly, pushing his own menu to the edge of the table.

“I am unfamiliar with almost all of this,” Castiel whispered, sounding quite overwhelmed. He didn’t say anything else, cut off by the arrival of their waitress with a hot pitcher of coffee.

“Any idea what you want, boys?” she asked, her voice a loud, friendly Texas drawl.

Dean looked once more over at Cas, sallow and sweaty, his small but increasing bump obscured by the table and his eternal trench coat.

“Yeah, actually—could we just get two cheese burgers, two hot dogs with everything, and fries to share?”

Nodding, the waitress—Enid, her embroidered blouse pocket announced—poured them each some coffee, gathered the menus, and bustled off to the kitchen.

“Didn’t mean to be presumptuous,” Dean said to Castiel once she’d departed. “You just seemed like you were struggling a bit. You can try everything and eat whichever you like best.”

Dean felt a telltale touch to his leg under the table, and something wrapped almost affectionately around his ankle.

“You are thoughtful, mate, not presumptuous.”

They passed a few minutes discussing the various sports on the screens around the room, with Dean confessing that he didn’t have much more than a passing interest in any of them and Castiel wondering why white was such a prevalent uniform color when there was so much mud.

The food slid onto their table with a gentle clank of plates, and Enid checked if they needed anything else before departing.

Dean rearranged the plates; putting one hot dog, one cheeseburger and a handful of fries onto a plate by themselves, and pushing them over toward Castiel.

“Just try?” he asked hopefully. “See if it helps. The cheeseburgers are going to be similar to what you had at the Roadhouse, you’ll probably like them.”

Picking up a single fry very carefully between his thumb and forefinger, Castiel smiled reassuringly as he showed Dean that he did intend to try. The fries didn’t change his expression much; the addition of a little ketchup by Dean caused him to give an improved, thoughtful hum. Castiel picked up the hot dog next, giving it only a tiny nibble before it was replaced, somewhat unceremoniously, on the far side of the plate. The cheeseburger though—that he practically inhaled. A small, cautious bite to start with. Then, with a pleased look in his eye and a delighted groan, the rest was gone in three or four huge mouthfuls.

“Alright, alright, don’t choke yourself.” Dean laughed, and picked up the cheeseburger off his own plate, retrieving the rejected hot dog from Castiel’s. “Here. Have mine too if it was that good.”

By the time Dean was half way through his hot dog, the burger was once again completely gone, washed down with hearty glugs of coffee. Picking at his fries once more, Castiel looked at least a little more energized.

“So, cheeseburgers are a hit,” Dean casually observed.

Castiel ducked his head, embarrassed. “Yes. I liked them.”

Dean couldn’t help but shake his head as he shoved the last half of his hot-dog into his mouth. “For a giant, badass, winged beast, you’re a dork.”

While Castiel gave him another grumpy glare, Dean dug the Impala keys out of his back pocket, and gently tossed them across the table to Cas.

“Here, why don’t you go sit in the car so you can relax a bit. I’ll pay for the food and get us some more coffee to go.”

“As you wish, Dean.” Castiel used the table to push himself up. His tan trench coat swished around him as he stood, giving Dean a quick view of his stomach.

The bump, such as it was, was definitely more visible than it had been that morning, though nothing that would draw attention from far away, Dean figured. Regardless, Dean reached out to tug Castiel’s coat forward to shield his stomach from prying eyes. He rested his hand on the side of the bump for just a second, rubbing his thumb over it, and was pleased by the way it made Castiel smile.

Dean stood, grabbing the two coffee mugs as Castiel departed, and headed over to the hostess station to grab Enid. The helpful older lady quickly took his order, and in less than five minutes, Dean strolled out to slip back behind Baby’s wheel.

Castiel looked a little livelier than he had before they’d eaten, even if he was just as pale and sweaty.

Dean moved the two polystyrene coffee cups he carried out of their paper tray and tucked them down into the console, grateful for the millionth time that he’d taken one weekend a couple of years back to fit modern cup holders into the Impala, with his Uncle Bobby’s help. Mostly, he liked to leave the car as original as he possibly could, but there were only so many times he wanted to carefully restore the leather after a hot coffee incident. Once the caffeine was settled, he dropped down the white paper bag he carried into Castiel’s lap, winking at him.

Wordlessly, he pulled out of the lot while Castiel peered into the white bag, looking puzzled.

Dean grinned quietly to himself, not saying a word as he got back onto I-10.

“Dean!” Castiel exclaimed. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know I didn’t, but I wanted to. And I have a feeling with those little parasites in there you could eat a lot,” Dean said, looking over at Castiel as he dug down into the bag with both hands, steadying the white paper sack with a tentacle that crept out from under Jack’s blanket.

He emerged with a cheeseburger in each hand, one of the full dozen that Dean had quickly ordered and tipped Enid to rush. Within seconds the waxy paper wrapper was off one, and he dove in.

“Dean,” he said around a mouthful of meat, a ridiculously content sigh falling from his shiny, grease-slicked lips. “These make me very happy.”

If they make you happy, I'll buy all the burgers in the world. Dean couldn't help but think as he drove, thoughts of Charlie, NASA, and the mysterious email Charlie had sent.We’ve gotta take our happiness where we can get it.

~~***~~

Lordsburg, New Mexico, was a fairly small place, despite having at least ten motels along one small stretch of I-10—and those were just the ones Dean counted. Figuring that a town made up mostly of one-night-stays and hourly driver stops wouldn’t pay much attention to a man and his alien, Dean decided that it was the best place for them to spend the night.

Dean had checked all his phones, all his email addresses, even his ancient freakin’ Facebook, as soon as they’d arrived within the Wi-Fi range of all of the motels, but there was nothing from Charlie. He was worried. He knew better than most that Charlie was incredibly capable of taking care of herself, but still, he worried.

The Lordsburg truck stop was a busier layover than Dean would usually have preferred, but Castiel agreed with him that the anonymity of endless truckers and motel clerks that didn’t even look up, much less check Deans I.D., was exactly what they needed. Dean hauled his heavy duffle bag into the double room he had just paid for at the Comfort Inn—he’d even sprung for a suite, wanting the extra space and facilities to be able to take care of Castiel while he still could.

Dean knew that the eggs would be ready at any time. They’d driven all day, with Castiel looking more and more tired as the day wore on, the bags under his eyes deeper, his frame getting strangely thinner, almost before Dean’s eyes. It was surreal to see the changes in the body he projected; but just like when he was upset and couldn’t focus, Dean figured that the outside had to at least in some way reflect how he felt in his true form.

Castiel had gone from being grumpy to being overly emotional, and then for the last couple of hours of their drive, he’d been mostly silent. Just too tired, too focused, too drained to talk. But they’d made it, and now they could both rest, until they were ready.

Dean definitely wasn’t ready.

He was freaking the f*ck out, internally, but he tried his best to keep it to himself—Castiel just didn’t need that right now. Dean didn’t know if alien babies were affected by stress the same way human babies could be, but just in case, he was going to do his best to have Castiel relax. And that meant stowing his own fears and plastering on his best game face.

Which, honestly, he’d done for most of his life anyway, so what was the difference? He’d always had to be strong for Sam, when his little brother was smaller. Now he’d be strong for Castiel, and for the tiny creatures he carried.

Babies. Dean’s. No matter what they looked like, or what their blood was. Family didn’t end with blood, Dean knew. And it didn’t start there either.

Dean was one hundred percent confident that no matter what those hybrid alien babies looked like, he was going to love them the second he laid eyes on them. That was just who he was. So he smiled, and even hummed a little, despite the tight pull of anxiety across the back of his neck, the fear of the unknown, and the fear of the pain to come. He let a few whistled bars of “Hey Jude” carry him on into the motel room, where Castiel waited.

Castiel was waiting for Dean on the end of the bed, sat stiffly in his trench coat and boots, his head tilted to the side as he regarded a piece of art on the motel room wall as if he was trying to fathom its secrets. It was a generic, abstract, motel-room piece which probably had an identical twin in every other double, but Castiel’s reaction to it made Dean smile. Of course Castiel would try and make sense of motel room art.

“Not impressed with the décor?” Dean quipped as he lowered the duffle bag down to the mattress.

Castiel blinked at him slowly. “I wasn’t under the impression motel décor was meant to impress. If it is, we should probably inform the ones we’ve stayed in recently that they are failing horrifically.”

Dean laughed and sat down on the mattress next to Castiel, thigh to thigh. “How are you feeling, Cas? Can I get you anything?”

“I believe the babies will be ready to hatch within the next two hours,” Castiel pointed out calmly. He smiled, his face pale but managing to look genuinely happy. “So, if you have changed your mind about our plans, Dean, this is your last chance to back out.”

Squeezing at Castiel’s thigh, Dean grinned. “Nope. I mean, I’m still scared. But excited, too. I trust you if you say I can do it. Until then—lets try have you relax a little, huh? It’s gotta be good for them.”

Castiel didn’t take much convincing. As soon as Dean mentioned the idea of having him relax in the motel’s small tub while he used the compact kitchen to cook him up some fresh cheeseburgers, Castiel was fully on board. Dean helped the alien into the tub, pausing to press kisses to his swollen stomach, ignoring the amused eye rolls he received in return for such a sappy gesture. There was a small seven-eleven store right next to the motel, so while Castiel soaked in the bubbles and heat—which he claimed made his muscles feel much better—Dean dashed out to grab some supplies.

He’d cooked in motels plenty when he and Sam were kids, and even years later, he could still rustle up a perfectly acceptable cheeseburger on a hot plate. It didn’t take him long, so armed with two on a plate, he walked back over to the bathroom.

Dean paused at the doorway, leaning one shoulder onto the frame. He hummed, the same tune that had been in his head all day— Hey Jude. He remembered that his mom had sung it to him as a child, and it seemed fitting. Watching Castiel, Dean grinned to himself.

Castiel reclined back in the tub, his small bump just peeking out above the scented bubbles. He had one hand spread out on the top of it, casual and protective. His feet rested up on the steel taps that were affixed to the wall, and which slowly dripped water down into the bubbles with a soft tap-tap-tap sound. Adorably, a lazy tentacle swung out of the tub, dark against the cream tiles below. The purplish suckers tapped out a matching rhythm to the tune Dean hummed, leaving a small trail of bubbles across the floor. Castiel’s hand on his stomach rubbed a slow circle as Dean lifted up from the doorframe, walking into the bathroom with the plate of burgers in one hand. He tangled the other down into the alien’s hair, which was damp at the tips.

“Hey, baby-mama. I brought you a snack.”

Castiel tilted his head up, already licking his lips just from the scent. “It’s almost worth this discomfort just to have my mate look after me so well,” he said with a small smile.

“Oh, so you want to be waited on hand and foot all the time, huh?” Dean grinned, kneeling beside the tub.

Castiel smirked rather than reply, but the tentacle that dangled out of the tub wiggled its way up through the air and booped Dean on the nose.

“Hand and tentacle?” Dean laughed, shoving the plateful of burgers in Castiel’s direction. “Take these. Pregnant or not, you’ve still got many more hands than me, and I am about to wash your back because I am just that nice.”

Castiel fixed him with a squinty, amused look. “You’re being extremely attentive. What do you want?”

“Sassy,” said Dean, handing over the plate so he could shuffle closer to the side of the tub and submerge the washcloth that rested on the side. “I hope you’re planning on being nice to me too, when I’m as pregnant and pissy as you are,” he joked.

“Well, you’ll find out any time now,” Cas said. “I can feel the babies moving around, they’re getting ready to hatch—” Castiel paused, grabbing one of Dean’s hands from the water and pressing it hard to the bump of his stomach. “—Here. Can you feel them, now?”

And Dean could, and that was the most amazing moment of his life up until that point.

“They’re really in there,” Dean breathed out in amazement, staring down at his damp, bubbly hand, under which he could feel a slight wiggling, rolling sensation.

“Of course they are,” Castiel said, angling his head slightly to the left as he looked at Dean. “It seems a strange thing to doubt, given my physical state.”

“Nah, I didn’t doubt it,” Dean explained, grabbing a towel to dry his hand. “But it’s the little things like that which make it feel more real.”

Castiel nodded. One of his tentacles must have loosened the plug in the tub, because the water began to drain even though Dean could see both of his hands.

“Need any help out of the tub?” Dean asked, offering a hand.

Castiel shook his head. “I’m fine, thank you. You should go and begin to prepare, mate.”

An iron band of fear immediately tightened around Dean’s chest, but he did his best to smile through it. Not trusting himself to speak, he merely nodded and went out to the main motel room.

He looked around. It wasn’t a bad room, all in all. Nicer than any of the others they had stayed in, but still, at its heart, a cheap motel. There was something in Dean that was deeply disappointed they had to do it there; he wasn’t a luxury hotel, flowers and chocolates kinda guy, himself. He’d provide those kinds of things for a partner, more than happily, and he’d revel in pleasing them. But he was pretty easy to keep, or so he liked to think. A shared life, some fun times, loyalty, and regular sex, he didn’t need any of the frills. But this… this was something special. Fear inducing, but special.

He was, after all, about to try and do something that had previously been entirely out of the question for him as a human cis male: carry his own children.

Dean unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off his arms and folding it roughly into the top of the duffle bag that still sat at the end of the bed. He quickly followed it with the rest of his clothes, before moving the bag over to near the door, and plopping his boots next to it. Naked, he wandered back to the mattress, laying down on his front and burying his face in the pillows.

He concentrated on breathing, sucking the air in through his nose and out through his mouth. He tucked his hands up under the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. Dean wasn’t really a panicky person by nature, but he could feel his own heartrate increasing, a fluttery feeling in his lungs making his breathing uneven, everything around him feeling like it was closing in. This was crazy, this was going to hurt like a bitch, he was sure, and even if it didn’t then he still had to worry about the chance that—

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice behind him was deep, but soft, as he felt the alien’s weight slither up onto the bed beside him. “Breathe.”

“’m fine,” Dean protested.

“No, you aren’t, Dean. I can’t, and nor would I want to, breed you in the midst of a panic attack. You have to be relaxed.”

“I’m relaxed,” Dean said into the pillow.

He heard a hrmph of disbelief from behind him as the mattress shifted. He was about to look back and tell the alien to get the hell on with it, when he felt the soft, velvety sensation of tentacles embrace his hips from either side; Castiel was straddling him, either in his true form or half way there, and Dean froze, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

“Really, my love,” Castiel murmured, human lips barely ghosting against Dean’s ear as he leaned down over him. “Try to relax. You have to trust me.”

Castiel’s hands, feeling human, strong, and familiar, slipped under the pillow, their fingers entwining amongst the fabric. Castiel had his hands over the top of Dean’s, his body over his back, his face tucked in beside his ear. He rested there like a weighted blanket in (half) human form, wrapping around Dean without another word.

Dean wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he responded; it could have been five minutes, or it could have been half an hour, he really had no clue.

“I trust you, Cas. You’re right. I’m panicking, but I do trust you.”

Slowly, Castiel drew back, sliding his hands up Dean’s arms to his shoulders. After a moment, Dean felt firm fingers begin to glide across his back, slowly circling and working at the tension in his muscles. It was a little dry—until it wasn’t. Dean felt something oily and warm begin to ease the passage of Castiel’s hands across his skin, and his eyes widened into the pillow. He knew for a fact there was nothing like massage oil anywhere in this room.

So that means…

Not exactly a man prone to shame about his own desires, Dean gave a delighted hum into the pillow. It was hardly the weirdest thing he’d found hot about his alien boyfriend. Castiel was practically his every fantasy come to life, he wasn’t about to be shy about it.

Castiel worked a little harder as Dean slowly relaxed, his whole back slick and warm.

“That feels so good, Cas,” Dean said, muffled by the pillow.

“I’m glad,” Castiel said next to his ear, low and gravelly. “I love watching you relax and enjoy yourself.”

So, Dean did; and Castiel really did seem to love it.

As the alien massaged and pressed at his muscles, driving his thumbs in deep circles and smoothing his fingers more lightly up and down Dean’s spine, always alternating his movements, both of them softly panted and moaned at the sensations. Dean could still feel Castiel’s silky, hot lower body straddling him, and he desperately wanted to turn over so that he could look at him that way; both forms that Dean loved, all in one. But moving would mean the amazing, tension-draining massage ceasing, so he did not.

Castiel pressed his lips to the back of Dean’s neck and began to trail burning hot kisses down his spine, his breath hot puffs against Dean’s skin. When Castiel leaned against him the smooth, round bump of his stomach pressed into Dean’s back. It was a reminder of why they were there, but Dean felt calmer, his mind following his body as it relaxed. Castiel’s hands trailed around to Dean’s sides, and lower, his thumbs tracing letters and symbols that Dean didn’t understand.

“Does that feel better?” Castiel asked against the skin at the base of Dean’s back, wiggling down the bed between his legs.

Dean hummed a note of relaxed agreement. “Much better.”

Castiel’s hands shifted, massaging lower across Dean’s back until they spread across his ass cheeks, firm and insistent.

Dean felt himself tensing. He was about to ask Castiel if it would harm the babies if he got drunk first, when the wet heat of Castiel’s tongue pressed down between his parted cheeks, licking a long stripe from his tailbone down to his taint.

“sh*t! Cas!” Dean’s head snapped back and his dick jumped up to action, immediately giving up on the cozy half-hardness he’d maintained during his massage and demanding more attention. He slid his knees up under him, arching his back and sticking out his ass almost as a reflex.

Dean felt Castiel’s smile against his skin, his face buried in ass, his tongue working firmly. The alien was already well aware of how responsive Dean was to being rimmed; they’d explored plenty both on Mars and on Earth.

It was almost cruel for Castiel to use Dean’s own weaknesses against him in such a way, but he really couldn’t complain.

“Ah—Cas—f*ck, yes, your mouth is amazing,” Dean babbled down into the bedding as Castiel devoted all his attention to spearing Dean deep, eating into him like he wanted to split him with his tongue.

The alien’s thumbs worked at Dean’s rim on either side of his mouth, on opposite edges of Dean’s tingling hole. He gently tugged and rubbed until they eased within, beginning to stretch him out wide, lick by lick.

“Christ, Cas—please, more, I can take more—”

Castiel’s lips pulled back just a fraction, and he took the opportunity to blow cold air across the muscles that Dean could feel becoming puffy and red, without even being able to look. It caused him to shudder violently, drawing a low chuckle from Cas before he responded.

“I know you can take more, Dean… but you’ll have what I give you, so that I can make sure you’re ready.”

Dean groaned deep into the mattress, his hips bucking.

Castiel’s hands tightened on his pelvis, using more strength than it looked like he should have in his tax-accountant-looking human form, though Dean was well aware of how misleading the trench coat and sensible shoes were on that front. He held Dean still, and carried on.

The two of them were amazingly compatible sexually, and they had spent many hours teasing and tempting and drawing things out; but their previous encounters all seemed like a sprint compared to this marathon. Dean felt loose and sloppy, gaping around Castiel’s insistent ministrations. His co*ck hung between his legs, rock solid despite his neglect of it, both hands making fists on the pillows.

Dean looked back over his shoulder, enjoying the gorgeous sight of Castiel’s smile—red lips, swollen and spit slicked, drawn back against astonishingly white teeth—as he breathed for a second between bouts, looking across Dean’s back toward him. His chin was wet, his eyes wide and devouring. Dean could feel ribbons of saliva and Castiel’s own clear, shiny lubrication dripping down his thighs.

“Almost there, mate,” Castiel soothed over Dean’s sensitive hiss as he slid a fourth finger into his hole, pushing him wider.

Whimpering, Dean put his head back down, nodding into the pillow. It was the very best kind of uncomfortable; Castiel wasn’t working his prostate with any particular intent, but the feeling of fullness was a special, delightful torture of its own.

Dean had never really tried the kind of sex that involved pushing his body to extremes—his own kinks were more about slick, erotic sensations and visuals—but as Castiel pushed him further, added more lubrication, pumping his hand back and forth between Deans cheeks, Dean thought he could understand at least part of the appeal.

“That’s it, my love…” Castiel’s voice was so deep it rattled, so turned on by the sloppy sight he was causing that Dean thought they might have to revisit the alien’s insistence that filling Dean with their eggs wasn’t going to be a kink thing for him.

“You like that, Cas?” Dean teased, his own breath jerking out of his mouth in rough pants. If Cas wanted him to enjoy it, then f*ck, they could enjoy it. “You like looking down at me, all stretched out for you, ready to take your eggs, Cas?”

The growl that answered was so deliciously primitive that Dean closed his eyes in pleasure at the sound of it, and then—Holy sh*t that was a fist, that had to be a fist.

“Ahhh!” Dean cried out desperately, not sure if he was more amazed at the way his body opened up to accept Castiel, or the way that his co*ck absolutely f*cking loved it, drooling frantically between his legs.

“Oh, Dean…” Castiel’s voice sounded impossibly deep, somehow both lustful and adoring. “You look so good. I want… I want—”

“What do you want, Cas?” Dean interrupted, encouraging, his head thrown back as his back arched desperately. He felt so full, so stretched and occupied, feeling so much of the alien within him was amazing. If he could persuade him to do this with his tentacles one day…

“I want to fill you,” Castiel rasped. “Breed you.”

More of the alien’s lubrication leaked out around Dean’s hole, pushed inside him with the slow, steady pumping of Castiel’s fist that had Dean shaking on the bed. The secretions felt warmer than usual, but they’d discussed that. Castiel had chemicals he could release into his mate at the point they were now at, a numbing, warming venom of sorts that helped the Enoch accept, or even enjoy, the deposition of their spawn.

It was definitely helping Dean, he was sure of that; if he’d have been asked an hour ago if he wanted to be fisted like a hand puppet, his thighs would probably have clamped shut hard enough to impede his blood supply.

But here he was, ass presented on the bed like someone begging to be bred, to be filled.

“Go on, Cas,” Dean said. Why not make it as best for them both as he could—he knew exactly what Castiel wanted to hear, even if he felt like he couldn’t ask for it. “Fill me up, Cas. Breed me, Pump me full of eggs, full of your eggs, till I’m swollen and round—f*ck!”

Castiel’s fist yanked back suddenly, a rumble of Enochian words falling from his tongue that Dean couldn’t quite make out.

Tentacles enveloped Dean’s hips; he craned his neck back, taking them in as Castiel pulled Dean sharply up against him. Castiel looked human, and f*cking hot, Dean considered, sweating and writhing behind Dean, his eyes dark and his lips parted, panting. But somehow the tentacles came into view below his hips—Dean could never get a full view of how; every time he tried his eyes couldn’t get a fix on what was happening.

Castiel had told him that his mind likely just couldn’t process what it was seeing, which was, Dean would admit, a slightly disturbing thought. But he could see the tentacles, and feel them, and that was just as sexy as it always was. The alien rutted up against Dean, and Dean could feel his co*ck, solid and throbbing—no.

Nope, said Dean’s brain. Not his co*ck, far too long, that’s—oh f*ck, f*ck—

Castiel speared into Dean with a long, smooth thrust, his fingers clawing at Dean’s hips even as his tentacles encircled Dean’s thighs, dragging Dean across the bed and onto Castiel like a panting, shivering sex toy.

It was quick.

Dean’s hips were dragged back against Castiel again, and again, five, six times, with force enough to make Dean cry out, his head snapping with every powerful thrust from behind. And then it was Castiel’s time to scream—higher pitched than Dean had ever heard him, a long, throbbing noise that sounded like half pain, half sheer joy.

And then the long, stiff ovipositor that Castiel had impaled Dean upon throbbed. It was a solid, penis-like organ that Castiel had explained to Dean the night before, which emerged from further back than the hole Dean had so enjoyed f*cking—a cloaca, apparently—and was meant for depositing eggs deeply within a partner’s body.

Which was exactly what was happening, with pulsing, agonizing precision.

Dean was aware of the pain. He could register it, and the effect it was having on his body—he was shaking wildly, sweating, crying without any control. But he didn’t feel it, in the strictest sense. Castiel’s venom had done something, something numbing and odd; like a local anesthetic for those about to be impregnated by aliens.

Castiel seemed wrung out when he was done, slumping forward over Dean’s back, panting hard and shivering.

“f*ck,” Dean managed to let out, low and breathless, before collapsing onto the mattress. He wasn’t exactly sure when an org*sm had hit him, lost in the sensations, but the bedding beneath him showed the evidence.

He was trembling, he couldn’t help it, the convulsions in his muscles too strong to overcome. He was incredibly sore, his ass burning, scratches at his hips, sweat pooling in the dip of his spine. None of that mattered, though. All Dean was conscious of was the feeling of extreme fullness, something so wrong and deep about it that his hands went to his stomach, clawing, panicked. Even worse than that was the final feeling; the feeling of something moving, something shifting under his skin—no, not something, some things, four of them.

He could feel them hatching, right then, inside of him, and it was terrifying.

Castiel pulled himself out of his stupor immediately. Human looking, more worried than Dean had ever seen, he scrambled up the bed to lay next to Dean, pulling him close so that he could press his forehead to Dean’s own.

“Are you okay, mate?” Castiel whispered, the whole of Dean’s view blue and soft, only the quiver in the alien’s voice giving away his underlying desperation and fear. Castiel held Dean’s face between his hands, his thumbs cutting gentle paths through the sweat on his skin, writing love on his cheeks with salt. He held Dean like something breakable, something truly precious, and part of Dean struggled against it automatically, wanting to push back and refuse to be treated like a delicate, fragile thing.

But this was Cas. And the part of him that needed care was overwhelming the part of him that rejected it.

Dean slumped forward, letting his head rest on Castiel’s shoulder, letting himself just be held. “Yeah. Just…” He nodded into Castiel’s slick skin, running with just as much sweat and heat as Dean felt engulfing him. “I’ll be fine, Cas. Just hold me, please. I need you.”

Almost an hour passed before the young seemed to…settle.

Dean wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was relieved for it. Slowly, in Castiel’s arms on the bed, his trembling subsided and his sweat dried. Eventually, he looked up, lifting his head from where he’d buried it in the crook of Castiel’s neck and shoulder.

“Hey,” Dean croaked softly.

Castiel gave him a smile that hardly touched his eyes, his concern that Dean was hurting clear all over his face.

“It’s okay,” Dean reassured, finally wrapping his arms around Castiel in turn. “I’m okay. They stopped now, I guess. With the burrowing. I can still feel them there, and they move a little sometimes, but…”

Dean trailed a hand down to his stomach—which was bulging out, round, as if he’d eaten a simply huge meal—and rested it on his bare skin. After a moment, curious, Castiel’s hand came to rest next to Dean’s.

Looking at Castiel’s face, concentrating intensely, Dean could tell that Castiel was doing something with the babies—not talking, perhaps, but sensing. Using the empathic abilities he’d sometimes shown but never really explained.

“They are happy,” he said after a moment. A huge, gummy smile spread slowly across his face as he returned his eyes up to Dean’s. “They recognize you, Dean. They’re happy, and safe.”

No matter what else he was feeling, the intense wave of relief that swept over Dean soothed everything to a background level, and he found himself grinning back at Castiel.

“Just a couple more days and we’ll have them out here with us,” Dean said.

“Yes, we will.” Castiel looked a little dazed by the idea, but definitely exceedingly happy--though a shadow passed his eyes as he added, “We must keep them safe, Dean. We have to find somewhere safe.”

Dean nodded firmly against the pillow, wincing as something inside him shifted. “Of course we will, Cas. We’ll get on the last leg of our journey tomorrow, and see Ash. He’ll whip us up some I.D.’s, and then I’m going to get in contact with my Uncle Bobby.”

“Is that safe?” Castiel looked worried, squinting hard.

“No one I’d trust more in the world, with the exception of Sam. Bobby is a character, and he’s definitely got some shady connections, but that can help us. And he can take anything in his stride, believe me. Might cuff me upside the head for knocking you up before he even met you, but I’ll take that if he can help us.”

Castiel looked almost embarrassed. “I will do my best to make a good impression, I can tell that he is important to you.”

“Soon enough, you will. He’ll love you, because I do.”

Castiel smiled as he reached across to press his lips to Dean’s forehead. “And I love you, Dean. Very much. You will make an excellent father, I believe.”

Dean felt his cheeks heat at the alien’s words, but he didn’t argue. He was definitely hoping the same thing.

After a few more minutes of quiet, calm snuggles on the bed, Castiel reached down and tugged up the blanket, shielding Dean’s tacky skin from the motel air conditioning.

“Can I get you anything, mate?” he asked gently, tucking the blanket around Dean so gingerly it made Dean laugh.

“No, Cas, I’m fine. Right now, I really am fine. You can grab me some water if you want—and one of the burner phones I got from the store the other day. I’ll have to get one charged to call Charlie from in a little while.”

Castiel nodded firmly, slithering off the bed with a new seriousness to his expression. “You should rest, Dean. I’ll fetch some water, and maybe you can show me how I can call Charlie. Very soon, you will need to sleep, the young will demand it.”

“You wanna talk to Charlie?” Dean asked, grinning. “Have an actual conversation?”

“Why not? I would like to try and… speak to her. Perhaps it will be easier if I can’t see her.”

“Hmm,” said Dean, nodding against the pillow. “That makes sense. Alright—grab one of the phones then, I’ll show you how to use it.”

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Castiel had been correct: Dean fell asleep very quickly. He was absolutely exhausted, his body ached, and the uncomfortable sensation of excessive fullness wouldn’t go away no matter what he did. Which made sense really, he supposed. He drifted off but awoke frequently from the sensation of sharp pains passing through his abdomen.

“Hey,” Dean said softly, spreading out a hand low on his stomach over the bedsheet. “You wanna calm down and stop wiggling in there? Daddy’s trying to sleep.”

Castiel was in the small kitchen area of the suite, but he drifted over to the bed immediately as he heard Dean’s low voice. “Pain, again?” he asked, looking regretful.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured dismissively, waving his other hand briefly. “It’s fine. It’s just sharp enough to wake me up when one of them has a good wiggle.”

Nodding, Castiel perched himself on the bed next to Dean’s chest. He looked a lot better; his color had already returned, and his skin was dry rather than shiny with sweat. He was still looking a little skinny, but he had assured Dean it would pass quickly. His stomach was now as flat as normal, all taut, tan skin and marble abs.

Dean, on the other hand, looked like he’d swallowed a beach ball. His skin itched. He raised a hand to idly scratch at his stomach, disliking the sensation. Castiel caught his hand, shaking his head.

“You’ll make it worse if you scratch it,” Castiel said. “There’s complementary lotion in the bathroom, I’ll fetch it.”

The alien swiftly returned to the bedside with the tiny bottle of vanilla-scented lotion that the motel had shoved in a corner with the stack of towels and free soap. Paying absolutely zero heed to Dean’s fussing and protestations that he didn’t need any damn lotion, Castiel squeezed some onto his hands and began to smooth it into Dean’s skin, running his fingers over the pinkish lines that were already beginning to streak up from his abdomen to his bellybutton.

Alright, so Dean had to admit it felt good. But he wasn’t going to say it out loud.

“Where did the egg sacs go, Cas?” Dean asked after a moment, watching the alien’s hands move over his bump.

The passing of the babies’ protective shells had been less bothersome than Dean expected; his first uncomfortable wake-up from his exhausted sleep involved a strange pushing sensation, not unlike desperate urge to use the bathroom, and with only minimal assistance from Castiel—which he’d been just too exhausted to be humiliated about—Dean had passed four odd-looking egg sacs. For some reason he had pictured something that looked like, well, an egg. Thinking back on it, he wasn’t sure why—that didn’t really make a lot of sense. But the four containers Castiel had ended up with in his hands looked more like the transparent sacs that contained baby octopuses or certain species of shark.

“I cleaned them up,” Castiel said. “It didn’t seem wise to leave them here in the motel where someone might find them.”

Dean nodded slowly, pulling the sheet back over his swollen stomach as Castiel removed his hands, wiping the excess lotion off onto a complimentary tissue from the nightstand. “Can I see them?”

Castiel blinked. “Of course, Dean. If you want to.”

Dean looked around quickly, not quite sure where they were. But then Castiel’s head shifted, giving a thoughtful—and adorable—tilt to the side. He looked like he was concentrating hard on something for a second, so Dean left him to it.

“Here they are,” Castiel said, quite softly. He lifted a tentacle up from down the side of the bed, surprising Dean as the alien had looked totally human only a second before.

From the tentacle dangled a set of egg sacs, unmistakable as such. Castiel was holding onto them with his suckers somehow, the four of them dangling down for Dean to see.

“Huh,” Dean said eloquently. “They’re… kinda pretty, I guess, in their own way.”

Castiel moved his tentacle forward, and Dean reached out to touch them, slowly sliding his fingers across their beautifully smooth surface. He shifted so that he could reach them, and winced as the babies had something particular to say about his movement, causing a sharp pain to jab through his interior. Castiel frowned, but Dean dismissed it with a weak smile and turned his attention back to the eggs. They were open at one end, the babies now—of course—residing contentedly within Dean.

“I find myself surprisingly sentimental about them,” Castiel confessed. “I was going to get rid of them, destroy them so that they couldn’t be found by anyone following us—”

“No,” Dean said immediately. “Don’t get rid of them. I agree with the sentimental thing. Maybe it’s weird, but human parents, they keep first teeth and hair from first haircuts… this isn’t any stranger than that. Can we preserve them somehow?”

Castiel smiled, seeming pleased that Dean agreed with him. “They are totally inert now that the young have hatched. We shouldn’t have to do much to preserve them beyond store them somewhere safely, out of the sun.”

Dean nodded. He opened his mouth to speak again, to tell Castiel that they could probably pick up some kind of cute box to keep them in at one of the baby stores, but his attention was grabbed—the phone they’d plugged in to charge so that they could contact Charlie began to bounce across the nightstand. The alarm Dean had set to go off right before they should call her was announcing that it was time.

He turned it off, before handing the phone to Castiel. “Go ahead. Put it on speaker so we can both chat to her, as I’m awake.”

Castiel took the phone, and carefully inputted the phone number that he had completely memorized from just one glance at the email Charlie had sent to Dean.

As the phone rang, the sound filling the room as Castiel hit the button to put it on speaker, Dean realized that he was holding his breath.

He hadn’t heard from Charlie since the email; there’d been no phone calls since they’d left Merritt Island. If NASA knew that she—

“What up, losers!” Charlie’s voice boomed through the microphone.

“Hello, Charlie,” Castiel said with a small smile.

“Hey Cas! Dean there too?”

Dean shifted against the headboard, clearing his throat. “Yup. Feeling a bit under the weather, so Cas’ll do most of the talking.”

“Oh? Feeling a bit chattier now, huh, Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, with only the barest of uncomfortable shifts on the mattress. “I am trying to be…chattier, as you say. And we do have some important things to tell you.”

Castiel sought out Dean’s eyes, one last confirmation that it was okay, before quietly telling Charlie their news.

Charlie listened without interrupting. Which, given that it was Charlie, was a minor miracle.

“Charles?” Dean asked, placing a hand on his small bump and struggling forward so that he could get closer to the phone. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? Me? You’re the one with tiny aliens eating your organs, Dean! Goddamnit Winchester, I told you to wrap it, remember!”

Castiel looked downwards, letting Dean and Charlie talk, his fingers knotted tightly in his lap.

Dean sighed. “Yes, Charlie. You did. But I’m not sorry. And they aren’t eating my organs, okay. They’re just taking nutrients from my bloodstream.”

The silence that came from Charlie was entirely unimpressed. Dean nudged Castiel with his shin, encouraging the alien to look up at him. He gestured to the bed next to him, pointing firmly. Castiel looked like he was feeling guilty again, and so that dang alien was getting a hug even if Dean had to haul his weak ass off the bed. But he’d rather not.

Castiel looked concerned when Dean started to move, preparing to shuffle himself upright and swing his feet over the edge of the mattress so that he could move up next to him. The alien gestured for him to stay still and began to walk around to the other side of the bed.

“Castiel?” Charlies voice came back through the speaker. “You’re not close enough for me to kick your ass, but—”

“I know, Charlie,” Castiel interrupted, his deep voice soft and contrite. “Yes, this was an accident. Yes, I should have known better. But I won’t let Dean be hurt. He’ll be uncomfortable, but I would never let something bad happen to him, Charlie.”

“Well, you better. I know Dean, and I’d bet money he looked after you like a princess the last couple of days. So you better do the same, or there will be trouble, alien boy.”

“Charlie—” Dean began.

“Don’t even get me started on you! You could have alien STDs! Don’t think you’re off the hook because you’re knocked up, Handmaiden. We are going to have words, you hear me?”

Dean grimaced. Charlie might be small, but she was a firecracker once she was lit.

Castiel looked mildly alarmed.

“Dude, come on,” Dean reprimanded Charlie, biting down on his lip to stifle a small groan as Castiel jolted the bed by climbing onto the mattress next to him. “I don’t judge you for whatever freaky stuff you and Ro get up to.”

“Dude, you really do need biology lessons if you think Rowena can impregnate me. Though apparently they’d already be a few days too late to prevent the Interstellar Special Edition of ‘Teen Mom’.”

“I am not a teen, I am almost—”

“Well you acted like one, goddamnit!” Charlie yelled, though Dean could tell she wasn’t really mad anymore.

“Angry best friends that yell at me and my boyfriend don’t get babies named after them, Charlie,” Dean warned.

“You’re just trying to butter me up so that I’ll stop pointing out what an idiot you are,” Charlie grumbled.

With a wink at Castiel, Dean agreed. “Yeah, maybe.”

For a moment Charlie was quiet, but when her voice came back though the speaker again it was warmer. “So, you’re excited, Dean? Happy about this?”

Dean turned to look at Castiel, who still looked nervous, catching his blue eyes deliberately before he responded to the redhead on the phone. “Yes, Charlie. It was scary, sure, but now… now I’m extremely happy. I get to create a family with the person I love most in the world. That’s all that matters.”

Castiel visibly relaxed, holding Dean’s gaze as he smiled.

“Ugh, you two are so sappy. I bet you’re staring,” Charlie said. She cleared her throat before teasingly asking, “So you found yourself a keeper—no matter where you found him—and you’re running away together, and now you’re having hybrid babies. You gonna put a ring on it too Dean, go for a trifecta?”

Dean allowed a fat moment of silence to fall around them as the thought hit him, despite Charlie’s teasing tone. Still holding Castiel’s gaze, turned carefully onto his side so that they faced each other, Dean gave the alien a slow, wide smile, never looking away. “Yeah, maybe. If he wanted to marry me, I’d totally do it.”

Charlie made a small, surprised noise from the other end of the phone, but Dean didn’t respond, his attention on Castiel. The alien flushed lightly. He managed to hold Dean’s gaze for another moment longer, before breaking it and dropping his chin so that he looked down to the bedding. His cheeks flushed pink and a huge, gummy grin over took his face. He was blinking fast, and Dean thought it was rather adorable.

He reached forward with just his forefinger, pressing under Castiel’s chin lightly to draw his face back up. Dean smiled as he kissed him, their grins making the long, slow kiss more awkward, but still amazing.

“Ugh, I can hear you guys, you know!” Charlie whined. “Suck your husband’s face later, Dean. Priorities, here.”

Dean made no effort to stop, so Castiel had to be the one to pull back after a moment, chuckling gently.

“Apologies, Charlie. You wanted us to call you for news, but we have distracted you.”

“It’s okay, lovebirds. I just want Dean to be happy. And, maybe next time, to listen to his wise BFF.”

“What’s your news, Charlie?” Dean asked, pulling Castiel into his side with one arm and bringing his attention back to more immediately important things. “Cas and me are well away from Merritt Island, now. I’ve been worried about you, though.”

“I’m fine, Dean. NASA and friends don’t seem to particularly care about what actually happened or where you got the information from—they’ve made no attempt to find me that I can detect. They’re much more interested in finding you two.”

“Did you find any further information about their intentions?” Cas asked quietly, leaning into Dean’s side and lowering his head to his shoulder.

“I’ve been focusing on Naomi. She’s a suspicious one, for sure. There are a lot of transactions in her bank account between her and an ominous sounding company called ‘Purge LLC’. I can also tell from the HR records at NASA that she recently spoke up to convince them to hire this ‘specialist’ I’ve seen mentioned, and his references—which seem faked to my eye—came from the same company, Purge. There’s been a lot of NASA money diverted to his mysterious program over the last few years.”

Dean’s mouth was dry. “Can you find out anything about the specialist himself? If we knew who—”

“Yeah,” Charlie cut in immediately. “I pulled what I could from his HR records, of course. Name, photograph—an address in Merritt Island that’s actually an unoccupied office space near Naomi’s home.”

Castiel sat back up, his twisting fingers suddenly still and white-knuckled. “What’s his name, Charlie?”

“Trenton, Cole Trenton. Though—there was another name, just mentioned once in Naomi’s emails…”

Castiel sat up straighter as Charlie went quiet, the soft tapping and clicking of her laptop just barely audible over the line. “Cole?”

Despite his own discomfort, Dean reached out to touch Castiel’s arm in concern, doing his best to conceal his wince at the movement it took. “Cas?” asked quietly.

Castiel didn’t look at him, staring desperately at the phone, his forehead furrowed deeply.

“Coliel,” Charlie said quietly for a minute. “That’s what she called him.”

Castiel’s whole body stiffened under Dean’s hand.

“Cas?” Dean asked him worriedly. “Do you know that name?”

The alien’s hands formed tight fists and a bright, lightning-blue light flashed behind his eyes. The corner of the room near their side of the bed glowed, filled with an alarming illumination Dean had never seen before.

“Yes. I know that name. I know who it is and what they want.”

~~***~~

“WHAT THE sh*t, DEAN!”

Dean and Castiel were driving once more, headed out of New Mexico and making their way on across to California. Dean had decided to grab the last of the cheap phones he had purchased, setting it up before they left the suite and telling Castiel that he’d bite the bullet while they drove, and update his brother.

“Surprise!” Dean said weakly, trying to keep his concentration on the road despite the growing discomfort in his stomach.

“Oh my god Dean, this is… this is insane, I can’t believe—”

“Do you need me to send you a picture, bitch? Sorry we haven’t had time to stop for a tasteful announcement photoshoot.” Dean realized he was being slightly unreasonable. But he also felt like he’d swallowed a bowling ball and it was sitting on his bladder, so really, people who wanted to push his buttons could go f*ck themselves.

“Dean, you’re being a total jerk,” Sam said loudly through the speaker as Dean laid the phone down on the seat between himself and Castiel.

“I’m being a jerk? You’re the one who is being so negative here, Sam, instead of being happy for us.”

“I think I’m in shock, honestly—” There was a scuffling noise and a sharp hiss of “No, Gabe!” before Sam continued. “—You know I’ll support you whatever, Dean, but this is—Gabe! No!”

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel, and the two of them shared a puzzled look.

Sam sighed, the deep sigh of the long suffering. “Gabriel wants me to ask if you made crop circles.”

Castiel’s head tilted to the side. “Crop circles.”

“You know,” Sam said, every word sounding like it pained him to say. “When you did the probing.”

Dean wanted to curl up and die.

“Oh,” said Castiel, blinking fast. “Actually, I believe at the point of conception, Dean was the one doing the probing.”

Dean might actually already be dead, he decided. This was what hell felt like, he was sure.

“Sam, please,” Dean said. “If we could maybe stay on track a little…”

“Right.” Sam cleared his throat. “So you’re… pregnant, I guess. As crazy as that sounds. And Cas says the baby—”

“Babies,” Castiel corrected.

“Jesus f—babies, okay, they could be here within a day or two.”

“Yes.”

“And the specialist that NASA hired is probably the person who wanted humans to retrieve Cas from Mars, and Cas thinks that he is an Enoch, like him.”

“Yes. A hunter. The same guy that killed Cas’s family in the first place,” Dean confirmed. He reached over, giving his mates hand a small squeeze as they continued to roll on down I-10.

Sam was quiet for a minute, the phone laying silent on the seat of the Impala, before he eventually spoke up. “Dean, NASA aren’t going to stop hunting for you. You’re a pretty dangerous person to them, right now—and if they find out about the babies… Maybe it’d be better to come back, and see if they—”

“You know what, Sam? f*ck you,” Dean snapped. “You know what they did to Cas, and—”

Suddenly the phone was yanked off the seat, and Castiel whipped it up to his ear and started talking.

“If you cause elevated stress levels in my mate in his current state, Sam Winchester, then I will pretend that crop circles—whatever they may be—are real and tell your husband all about them.”

There were some angry sounds on the other end of the line, but Dean just kept driving. It was taking all his concentration anyway; he felt tired, and achy, and weak. He had a headache that wouldn’t shift, and his stomach was definitely larger than it had been the night before. There was no way he was going to be able to pull off “ate too many burgers” much longer.

“I understand, Sam. It’s okay, Dean isn’t really mad, he’s just going through a lot. We’re all very tense and—yes. The news about Cole is stressful enough, I’d appreciate that.” Castiel was saying, calmly.

Sam’s muffled voice was back to a more even tone, and he spoke at length for a moment.

“Thank you, Sam. I’ll relay all of that to Dean. I apologize for threatening you with Gabriel.”

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle a little as Castiel hung up the phone. “You really did threaten him with Gabriel. You’ve come a long way, padawan.”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“You make a good point; we still have to watch Star Wars. Maybe tonight, if we find a motel with pay-per-view or something. Did Sam calm the f*ck down?”

“He did,” Castiel responded, taking his eyes from the smattering of cars along I-10 and moving them to Dean. “I apologize if I overstepped.”

Dean lifted his right hand from ten-and-two, reaching across to grab ahold of Castiel’s hand as they cruised along. “No such thing. You’re family, and you’re in protective mama mode. It’s cute.”

“Well, the same could be said of Sam. He may believe I exist, but he has no particular reason to trust me. He wants to protect you. But, I think we understand each other.”

Dean grunted, shifting in his seat as something moved at the side of his stomach. “So what did he say?”

“It’s going to take him a day or two to get his head around it, but he’s excited you will have children. He said you always wanted a bunch of them. He is also insistent that you should contact Bobby.”

“Heh. Yeah, he’s right. Bobby would probably be a big help to us right now.”

Dean could feel Castiel’s gaze on the side of his head.

“So why have you not called him?” Castiel asked carefully.

Sighing, Dean grabbed the phone and redialed. “Bobby is… well, he’s like a parent to me almost, especially since my Dad died. He is not going to be impressed that this is the first he’s hearing of you.”

A few minutes of introductions and explanations proved Dean right.

“IDJITS!”

There was a loud thump on the other end of the line; Dean thought that Bobby might have thrown something.

“I’m sorry, Bobby. I wanted to do this differently, you know that. I wanted to introduce Cas to you in our own time, and—”

“I’m too old for this,” Bobby announced. “I thought I’d checked out of the phase where I worried about this sh*t when you started cozying up with pretty guys and Sam made it out of prom unscathed. What the hell were you thinking, Cas?!”

“Bobby—”

“Oh shut up, Dean. You’re hormonal, let the grownups talk.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open, but Castiel spoke up, remarkably calm.

“Do you object to Dean having children, Mister Singer?” he said, a tiny smile pulling at the edge of his mouth that Dean was immediately suspicious of.

“Well, no, I guess. I just woulda liked to have at least known you existed before today, kid.”

“I understand that.” Castiel nodded, even though Bobby couldn’t see him. “But Dean is your family, correct, even if not by blood?”

If glares could be audible, the phone emitted one. “Yeah,” Bobby agreed, barely a rumble.

“Dean has chosen me as his family.”

There was a small pause before Bobby spoke again. “You’re a sneaky one, Cas. I like you.”

Dean blinked. “Hold on a damn minute—”

“Focus on the road, boy! Your dad’ll turn in his grave if you and your baby-brain so much as scratch that Impala.”

Castiel gave another tiny smile. “Sam thought that you may be able to help us, Mister Singer. He said you have some experience with ‘living under the radar’, as he called it.”

“Well, he’d be right. And you can call me Bobby, son, given as you’re gonna be raisin’ my grandkids, near enough.”

Castiel gave a satisfied smile, looking over at Dean, who just glared. “As you wish, Bobby.”

“I assume Dean is already headin’ to see Ash. When you’re done, get your asses up here. And for Christ’s sakes, start thinking one step ahead, you two! There’s a gun market just outside Lordsburg, stop there before you get too far out of town. They take cash, silence, and a friendly smile as payment. Three doors down from the Wal-mart, in case you need a crate of diapers while you’re at it.”

Dean finally gave a little smile. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“I’m still mad at you, Princess.”

“I know, Bobby.”

~~***~~

By the time Dean and Castiel doubled back to hit the gun market outside Lordsburg, Dean was growing increasingly uncomfortable. He was beginning to get shaky; the last few miles had seen his hands wrapped tight around the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

“Do you think you’d be able to drive a car, Cas?” Dean asked quietly as he lumbered his way out of the gun store, clutching a brown paper bag that contained two very illegally sold handguns.

Castiel raised an eyebrow, reaching over to take the bag from Dean and placing one hand supportively on his lower back. “You want me to drive?” he asked, sounding concerned.

“Might have to. Not sure I’ll be able to focus on the road much longer.”

“Of course, then. I’ll manage. I’ve seen YouTube videos.” Castiel smiled, rubbing a circle over Dean’s tailbone.

“YouTube—Cas! This is my Baby!”

“And those—” Castiel lifted his hand from Dean’s back to pointedly gesture at his stomach. “—are our babies, plural. One is more important than the other, yes?”

“How dare you.”

Dean grinned at Castiel, opening the car door so that they could stash their firearms inside before they headed into the large Wal-mart store that Bobby had correctly told them was only three buildings away.

Walking was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Dean had chosen to wear his loosest plaid shirt over an old, stretched-out Zeppelin tee—he hoped, that at least to the casual eye, he just looked heavy, rather than pregnant. Looking down at his stomach, Dean realized that at the rate he was going, he wouldn’t be able to pull that off by the time evening rolled around.

They grabbed some snacks and water. Once they had their few items in the cart that Castiel insisted on pushing for them, Dean found that he just couldn’t help leading them toward the baby section.

“I know we can’t predict how human or how Enoch the babies are going to turn out,” he said quietly, “but is there anything we can predict? What are we going to need to look after them, to keep them safe?”

Castiel took a moment to reply, busy peering at a rack of teeny, tiny, crib shoes with an amazed expression. “It’s hard to tell, Dean. They could so easily have so many different features, both human and Enoch.”

“You’re right, I guess. I suppose one of us will have to do a quick run for supplies when we work out what they need. We don’t even know if they’ll have legs, or tentacles. Hard to know whether to buy diapers or a kiddie pool, honestly.”

Castiel gave him a firm glare, his eyes squinted almost shut.

Dean grinned, waddling further down the aisle. “There are some things they might like regardless, though.”

“Like what?” Castiel kept pace with him, seeming to not want to leave Dean alone for even a moment.

“Blankets, maybe. Some cute toys. Something for them to sleep in. I can’t fit four car seats in the Impala, but we should try and work out something until we can get to Bobby’s.”

Castiel nodded thoughtfully, twining his hand with Dean’s and tugging him gently to a stop in front of a display of blankets. “Most of that can wait until Bobby’s, but the blankets—I think they would like those, regardless. We use them for our young just as humans do; it reminds them of being safely cocooned in their egg sacs, I believe.”

And so Dean and Castiel spent twenty minutes inspecting every soft baby blanket that the store had to offer. They eventually settled on four soft grey ones, with tiny clouds embroidered in the corners. Because Dean was nothing if not a goofy sap when he happened to be carrying around his own children in his belly, they also managed to leave with a wicker Moses basket linked with star-covered fabric, and various tiny books and toys shaped like moons and stars. Maybe he had a theme, so sue him.

As much as he was having a good time playing happy families, Dean quickly began to get antsy that they had been in Lordsburg too long, and he really needed to sit down. He lolled against Castiel slightly as they waited in the checkout line, and the alien gave him a soft smile, pressing a quick kiss down onto Dean’s temple as he rested on his shoulder.

“How are you doing, mate? Are you uncomfortable?” he whispered into his hair.

“Yeah, honestly. Super uncomfortable and it’s getting worse. But I’ll be okay. More worried about them.” Dean rested his hand subtly along the base of his stretched abdomen, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. “How are you doing, anyway?”

“Me?” Castiel blinked. “I am much recovered already Dean, thank you.”

“I meant about the specialist,” Dean clarified as they shuffled the cart forward. “This Cole guy.”

Castiel’s shoulders tensed in his trench coat. “That… is more difficult. Coliel is a sore subject, and not only because he killed my family. He went out of his way to torture and play with those he killed—he set up elaborate hunts, which it now seems he still has a penchant for.”

“What the hell is the dude’s problem?” Dean asked, scowling. “I mean, he’s one of you, right? Enoch?”

“Yes, unfortunately. He is. He believes that our leaders wronged him, many years ago, and that their actions led to the death of his mate,” Castiel explained. “How true that is I can’t really say. All I know is that his thirst for vengeance is absolute, and he has caused many times over the pain which he received. He’s insane, I believe.”

“Comforting,” Dean said quietly.

They fell silent as they moved up to the register, placing their items on the belt to pay. Dean angled himself behind the register and the cart, trying to keep his bump out of sight as much as possible. Once they were free of the store, he leaned on the cart heavily, plodding his way through the parking lot.

He could feel himself sweating at the smallest exertion. Worn out just from breathing, Dean suddenly had a lot more appreciation for what women go through, even if humans were probably a little different than aliens.

Castiel kept giving him concerned glances, and he did his best not to be annoyed by it, remembering how much he had fussed over the alien when he had been carrying the babies. Digging into his jeans pocket, Dean pulled out the Impala keys and tossed them over to Castiel.

“Practice run around the parking lot?” he suggested. “I love this car, so if anything happens to her—”

Castiel glared, but got behind the wheel.

Dean needn’t have worried. Castiel may never have driven before, but he learned incredibly fast, and his reflexes were faster than Dean’s would ever be. After ten minutes of careful explanation and some exacting passes around the parking lot, Dean had to admit he was satisfied.

Relieved, he curled up in the passenger seat. Castiel tucked Jack’s blanket around him, and pulled out some snacks from their grocery store haul in the trunk. Once Dean had everything within arms reach that he could possibly want, Castiel pulled them out onto the road and on toward California.

~~***~~

They didn’t stop until Baby needed fuel, well into Arizona. Dean dozed on and off, the pains in his abdomen growing worse as the parasites increased in size. Eventually he took to curling up on the bench seat with his head in Castiel’s lap, and the alien stroked at his shoulder while he drove, intent on getting them to Ash as soon as possible.

The gas station they stopped at was busy, on the side of a highway next to a seven-eleven. Despite Castiel’s protests that Dean should rest in the car and he could figure out how to fill up the car by himself, Dean got out. He needed to pee anyway, and he was starving; It no longer seemed so ridiculous that Castiel had eaten over a dozen cheeseburgers the day before. Dean felt like he could chew through that as an appetizer alone.

“I’m gonna go and grab something to eat and some coffee,” Dean said, gesturing to the store.

“Dean—”

“Cas, I’ll be fine. Promise. I need to use the bathroom, and it’s just a seven-eleven. Nothing is going to happen to the babies while I’m in there.”

Castiel frowned, folding his arms across his chest with the gas nozzle in one hand. “I’m just as concerned about you as them, Dean. You’re growing weak, and you look—”

“As hot as ever, I know.” Dean fluttered his eyelashes, well aware that he was pale and sweating. “I just need to stretch my legs Cas, please.”

Slowly, Castiel nodded and returned to figuring out how the gas pump worked.

Trying not to get grumpy at Castiel’s overprotectiveness, well aware his had been just as bad, Dean stepped into the store and took a quick look around. He’d take Cas some coffee, he decided, and find some sugary, high-calorie treats to help replace all the energy that the babies were leeching from him.

He headed to the bathroom first, smiling awkwardly at an old lady who squinted at him just a little too hard.

What, just because I have a baby bump I’m public property? Mind your own business, Martha, Dean thought hotly.

Safely ensconced in the bathroom, he allowed himself to breathe. Pressing both hands to the bottom of his stomach, he closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. The babies seemed to like it when Dean walked around—but Dean sure didn’t. It made them wiggle and roll, and Dean couldn’t help but shudder at the feeling of his skin contorting and stretching beneath his shirt. He wouldn’t even be able to wear a shirt much longer, he realized defeatedly; the baggy Zeppelin shirt he wore was the biggest he had, and it certainly wasn’t baggy any more, beginning to sit tightly around what was by then a quite noticeable bump.

He really would be forced to stay in the car soon, he realized with annoyance. People were just too nosy.

On his way out of the bathroom he noticed a rack of hoodies, and seized upon them quickly. He gathered up an armload of candy and grabbed the biggest hoodie that they had on the rack. It was a XXXL size; he usually wore a medium, so if that couldn’t contain his bump, he figured he was a lost cause.

Dean felt a bead of sweat oozing down from his temple as he lined up for the register, where he could pay for the clothes and chocolates and order some coffee. There were a few people in front of him, so Dean held the hoodie across his arm, placing it in front of his stomach as a makeshift disguise. It was blue and had “The Grand Canyon State!” plastered across the front. Dean didn’t much care, as long as it hid his stomach.

His attention wandered, and caught upon the television mounted up in the corner beyond the counter. The local news played, in the midst of a piece about the local animal shelter.

Dean shuffled up to the counter, his attention still on the TV. He slapped down some cash for the hoodie and snacks; he’d withdrawn a bunch of money before they left Merritt Island, knowing that using his credit card would be a terrible idea. Luckily NASA had paid him pretty well the past few years, and taking an unplanned cash-only sabbatical wouldn’t become a problem anytime soon.

“Two coffees, please—black, plus this lot,” he said, gesturing to the hoodie and candy.

The hulking man behind the registered nodded mutely, and turned toward the coffee machine.

“Breaking News!” the television chirped in the corner, drawing Dean’s attention.

He didn’t expect to see his own face.

“Dean Winchester, the wanted criminal who has police and FBI forces nationwide on his tail after stealing national secrets from the NASA Research Institute in Florida, was seen today in Lordsburg, New Mexico. Security tapes from the local Walmart Superstore show Winchester and an unknown male, described as around thirty-five, with dark hair and blue eyes—”

Dean ducked his head, abandoned the coffee, and ran.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Red-hot pain shot up from Dean’s abdomen, beating into his ribcage as he ran.

He gritted his teeth, imagining his poor little parasites hanging onto him for dear life as they were shaken around, feeling guilty but helpless.

Castiel was already behind the driver’s seat of the Impala, tapping his fingers idly on the edge of the leather-covered steering wheel as he waited for Dean, his eyes nonchalantly resting upon the horizon. He turned his head sharply as Dean exited the gas station, as if he could sense Dean’s approach—but then perhaps he could, Dean reasoned. He had said that he could feel his bond with Dean when he was fleeing from NASA before.

Dean jerked open the Impala door, slamming it behind him much more roughly than he would ever usually have treated Baby.

“Drive!”

“What—” Castiel started to ask, his foot already on the accelerator before Dean even had his lap belt done up.

“Someone saw us—police, FBI, somebody. They saw us in Lordsburg; it’s all over the news. We have to hurry and get out of the state, off the main highways.”

Castiel’s face set darkly as he whipped them out of the parking lot, even with Dean still struggling to secure the seatbelt under his bump. He finally got it clicked into place and leaned back into his seat. He reached forward, placing a hand flat onto the dashboard to steady himself as Castiel slid them impressively around a corner, flying off the main highway far above the speed limit.

“Those driving videos you said that you’d seen,” Dean gasped out. “Did you mean actual driving or Grand Theft Auto playthroughs?”

“Possibly both.”

“Scratch this car and I will be a single parent.”

“Noted.”

Castiel put some distance between them and the gas station and got them far off the highway, before immediately slowing down.

“We don’t want to draw any extra attention or trip any speed cameras,” he reasoned, keeping them right at the speed limit as he navigated the backstreets on the west side of Phoenix.

“Right. Probably the best idea. We need to find somewhere to lay low for a couple of hours,” Dean suggested. “They’re going to have eyes on the roads, if they know we were in Lordsburg earlier. We should give things a couple of hours to calm down after our dash off the highway, then make a run straight for Ash, no stops.”

Castiel nodded. “That could be a good idea, I think. How do you think they’re tracking us?”

Dean frowned, shifting his arm from the dashboard now that they had slowed. “I dunno. Either they’re tracking us by helicopter or drone, or through security cameras, or they have some other kind of tracker on us somehow. I wonder if—”

Dean’s eyes widened slowly as a new thought hit him, his eyes drifting from the road to lock onto Castiel in panic.

“Dean?”

“Do you think they’re tracking you?”

“Me?”

“I mean, when they captured you, do you think they…” Dean trailed off, his mouth drying up, not wanting to voice the idea of Castiel being tagged like a vicious animal or piece of meat.

Castiel was quiet for a minute, his eyes resting firmly on the center line ahead of them. “I… I don’t know. I would have felt it, once, I’m sure. But now… my skin is—uh, there are so many scars that I—”

“Hey,” Dean reached across, resting a hand on Castiel’s thigh reassuringly. “It’s okay. None of that matters. If that turns out to be true, we’ll find a way to deal with it, okay?”

Castiel nodded, his eyes still on the road.

They were quiet for a few miles, as Castiel looped and wandered them through side streets in an unpredictable pattern. Dean lay with his head on the back of the Impala’s bench seat, angled slightly toward Castiel. He watched him drive, trying his best to rest and settle despite the tension in his chest and neck.

He just wanted his family to be safe.

He just wanted them to be left alone.

Why was that so hard?

Dean sighed. “No matter how they’re tracking us, there are certain things we can’t avoid. I need to eat, to sleep. We have to take care of the babies. I say we stick to backstreets, ghetto diners with no security cameras, and drive until we get to Ash. By my rough guess, we’re about seven hours from Caltech. Can you keep driving that long?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. It’s not tiring for me like it is for you, I do not require sleep.”

“Back to the plant life huh, now you’ve offloaded the babies to me?”

Castiel turned his head to give Dean a derisive glare. “Yes, I suppose so.”

I didn’t take them long to find a run-down diner on the outskirts of Phoenix, near a disused train track. It’s blue and white awnings, ripped and flapping in the stiff breeze, did little to welcome anybody inside. The area was quiet, a few trucks parked across the street at some kind of factory, only a handful of cars in the parking lot, and no people in sight. After a slow drive-by where Dean peered through the windows as best he could, they determined that the dodgy looking diner could probably barely afford to stay open, never mind run any kind of security system. The crooked “Cash Only” sign on the door, in faded red sharpie, only solidified his opinion.

“This looks like our kind of place, at least currently,” Dean said. “Let’s park around the back, so the car can’t be seen from the road.”

As Castiel rolled around the back of the tiny concrete building and parked the car, Dean twisted over to the back seat. Even such a small motion produced huffs of effort from his chest, and by the time he resettled in his seat—with the paper bag from the gun store that morning in hand—he had to wipe his brow on the back of his hand.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Dean snapped, before taking a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry, Cas. I’m just…” he shook his head, trailing off.

Stressed. Angry. Afraid.

“I know.” Castiel gave him a small smile before his eyes dropped to the paper bag that Dean had pulled into his lap.

Reaching inside, Dean pulled out one of the guns from within.

“I’ve never even seen one of your human weapons before,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean nodded, holding up the small, black gun he’d retrieved. “This is an FN Herstal FNP-9. Semi-automatic—American made. Easy to conceal and good for drawing fast.” He tapped his finger to the side of it. “Polymer frame. The trigger is pretty unique, but one of these has a decent amount of stopping power against an armed target.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow.

“Bobby,” said Dean.

“Ah.”

They sat quietly as Dean loaded the magazine for each of the weapons. Double-checking the safety, he awkwardly leaned forward, reaching back to tuck the small gun easily into his waistband, secured by his belt. The other, he offered to Castiel.

“Here,” he said. “Put this in your belt, or one of your three million coat pockets or something. Somewhere that you won’t knock it but can get to it easily.”

“Dean—”

“Please.”

“I don’t like to think of you reduced to this kind violence because of me, Dean.”

Dean’s lips set in a thin line. “Honestly, Cas? After what they did to you? Hunting us, making a mockery of my entire career with their lies—I don’t care, Cas. I really don’t f*cking care.”

With that, Dean swung the Impala door open, awkwardly hauling his oddly-shaped bump out of the car and exiting with a loud, angry SLAM.

~~***~~

The single front-of-house staff member that operated Marco’s Diner didn’t bat an eyelash at Dean’s order of five bacon burgers with two servings of fries on the side. It didn’t seem like Jesse—as his peeling tag named him—would bat an eye at very much at all; that would involve him looking up from his phone as he slumped on the counter, so it didn’t seem likely. He didn’t so much as glance at Dean as he took their order with one hand. Which was also a very good thing, as Dean’s bump was alarmingly uneven, if one looked too close. In fact, Dean was becoming increasingly aware that if he pressed his hands around it, he could now feel four very distinct, separate entities within. It was a scary feeling, but also pretty cool.

Taking his hand off his bump, where his attention had drifted, Dean looked back up at Castiel, sitting opposite him. They were at a table next to the window, as Dean didn’t want to embarrass himself by trying to fit his conspicuous bump into a booth. The alien hadn’t ordered anything, and was staring somewhat grumpily out of the streaked panes, his eyes constantly scanning the parking lot.

Dean took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly, trying to force his shoulders to relax. He reached across the table, touching his fingers to Castiel’s arm.

“Hey.”

Cas turned to face Dean, though his eyes lingered on the parking lot for a moment more before their sharp, blue gaze landed on him. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry, Cas. I shouldn’t have shouted.”

Castiel looked at Dean for a long moment, then simply nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?”

Castiel shrugged. “Yes. What else is there? You’re lashing out because you are frustrated and scared; it’s hardly a terrible offense, Dean. You apologized, and that’s it.”

Despite the constant discomfort and the sweat gathering at the back of his neck as his body worked hard without him even moving, Dean felt an involuntary smile pull at his cheeks. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Castiel gave a low chuckle. “Far from it. I am, as you say”—Cas pulled his hands out of his pockets to make small air quotes, to Dean’s amusem*nt—“‘grumpy’, and sometimes uncommunicative. We aren’t so different.”

“Yeah, that’s true. But I know that I, uh.” Dean cleared his throat self-consciously. “It’s been a problem for me before. That I tend to lash out, sometimes turn my anger on people who aren’t deserving of it. Yell and stuff, is all, but—it’s not okay.”

Reaching across the table past Dean’s several, piled-high plates, Castiel grasped Dean’s wrist gently. “You aren’t perfect, Dean. And that is okay.”

Dean felt his cheeks heat oddly and he looked down at the nearest plate, grabbing a second burger to help the moment pass. “Yeah, well. As long as we’re alright. I guess we’re way past the point where we only get to see each other’s good sides, huh. Kinda in it for the long haul, now.”

“Certainly,” Castiel said solemnly. “We won’t just be raising children together, but now we will both be forging whole new lives together. I believe that fits the definition of what humans call ‘in it for the long haul’.”

Dean bit his lip for a moment, rolling it between his teeth as he considered their moment on the phone with Charlie, only that morning. “So, what’s ‘the long haul’ for Enoch, Cas? I mean, you guys live like… forever. I guess I’m a blip on your timescale. Enoch do the mating-for-life thing, though right? Doesn’t sound very fair to you.”

Castiel gave Dean’s wrist another squeeze. “Yes, when Enoch choose another to be their mate, it’s a permanent arrangement. Except in particularly traumatic circ*mstances. Humans, I know, have all kinds of different stages. Dating. Married. Engaged. For us… we are either mated, or not. We aren’t so changeable in our emotions, you see.”

Dean listened with interest, swallowing down the rest of his burger. He paused before grabbing the next, turning his hand on the table so that his fingers entwined firmly with Castiel’s. “Hey, Cas—I know that, we can’t ever really… y’know. Charlie was joking on the phone this morning, but I know that I can’t ever really marry you. That kinda thing requires, like, social security numbers and stuff that would be risky, for us.”

Castiel’s eyes bored unerringly into Dean as he fumbled.

“I just—and maybe this is dumb, and that’s okay—but I just kinda wondered if, when we get Ash to make some new identities for us, he could, well. Y’know.”

“Dean. I don’t know. You are making very little sense. Even if I could deduce what you wanted—”

“Oh come on, don’t make me say it, asshole.”

“How exactly does wanting you to be clear make me an anus, Dean?” Castiel withdrew his hand in exasperation, rolling his eyes heavily. “Why can’t humans say what they mean?”

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle. “Humans are kinda bad for that, yeah. I’m worse. I guess what I was trying to ask, was—would you want to be my husband? At least by fake I.D.? I know that’s not a thing , for you, but—”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel interrupted. A small, delighted smile began to tug at his mouth, lighting his eyes. “I will be your husband, because it means something to you. And I will also not tell Charlie that you proposed to me in a run-down diner with three cheeseburgers remaining and an illegal firearm in your pants.”

“You will?” Dean slowly smiled, his breath catching somewhere behind his sternum. “I know it’s not been long, not really, but it feels like it, and we have the kids and—”

Castiel pulled Dean’s hand across the table to his lips. “Yes.”

For a minute Dean just beamed down at his remaining burgers, before his hunger got the best of him and he grabbed another one, swallowing it down in four bites.

“Romantic,” Castiel observed dryly. “You criticized my hunger yesterday, and yet you eat remarkably like a star-nosed mole.”

“Like a what?—You know what, never mind.” Dean shook his head, grinning. “Ready to get out of here and put that pedal to the floor until we get to Caltech?”

Castiel squinted in confusion.

“Drive.”

“Oh—yes. Let’s go.”

Dean gulped down the last of his soda and threw some cash down on the table to cover his burger feast. He stretched his hand out, wiggling his fingers toward Cas— towards the man who would be his husband— with a grin. As they joined hands and strolled out of the diner, Dean looked back over his shoulder to see where Jesse, the young brunet server had gone.

He was standing behind the counter, his phone still clutched in his hand. He didn’t nod at them or say anything as they left, but his face stretched into an odd smile as they moved out into the parking lot. There’s was something about it that gave Dean pause. Something… something almost predatory, Dean realized slowly.

He looked around the decrepit diner’s graveled parking lot. All was still quiet.

Had… had that black SUV been there before?

Dean hurried them around the back of the restaurant to where they’d parked Baby, a sharp, iron taste of panic filling his mouth. He tugged wordlessly at Castiel’s hand, hastening him along.

Out of the corner of Dean’s eye, something glinted.

Slow motion.

Some sixth sense that Dean wasn’t aware that he had propelled him forward, pushing Castiel against the side of the Impala with his chest and yelling out. He wasn’t sure what he yelled, lost in the confusion on Castiel’s face, his utter puzzlement, before his eyes started widening…

Something knocked Dean forward. It didn’t hurt so much as it stung, like a giant bee or wasp sting.

Dean was contemplating that as he slumped forward against Castiel, pinning him against the car.

There was a screeching of wheels behind them.

Dean’s back felt… Warm. Hot. Burning.

“ Dean! ” Castiel’s yell was a panicked, visceral growl.

“Hey,” Dean said, calmly. “It’s okay, I’m—”

An inhuman roaring sound the likes of which Dean had never heard ripped from Castiel’s chest, his skin beginning to darken in Dean’s periphery. His eyes flashed like lightning, blue-white and gleaming with some kind of power. Dean felt oddly cowed, considering that he was cocooned comfortably in Castiel’s arms, looking up at him.

“Hey, Cas, it’s okay, I’m…” Dean tried again, but he couldn’t finish the sentence. I’m… what? What am I? I’m…

Things were a bit fuzzy, and the blackness at Castiel’s edges didn’t seem constrained to Castiel anymore. In fact, Dean pondered that it might actually be—

He slipped unconscious smoothly, the large dart in his back pulling him sweetly under.

~~***~~

Despite all the noise and motion and pleading from Castiel, it was the feeling of movement within Dean’s own body that started to bring him around.

Everything was bright, and flashy—had it been this bright before? It was a spring day, not too glaring, as far as Dean could recall, but… A sharp grunt pushed out through his gritted teeth, forcing his train of thought onto new tracks. He recalled the sound of the gunshot, suddenly. But it wasn’t his back that was in agony.

Flashing. Growling. Tearing metal.

Movement. Pain. A tearing sensation.

Mama was upset, and the babies weren’t happy.

Dean was aware of himself whimpering in pain, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. He made shaky shushing noises down at his stomach, cradling his rolling, uneven bump in his hands. Blinking his eyes, trying hard to focus, Dean registered that he was on the back seat of the Impala. He was sprawled on his back across the leather, as if he’d been thrown inside from the side door behind the passenger seat and roughly balanced up against the back of the seats.

The noises outside settled. Suddenly the door slammed and the car reared forward, tearing out of the diner parking lot and onto the street. Castiel drove with one hand, his arm up on the back of the front bench seat as he looked back at Dean with wide, terrified eyes.

“Dean! Can you hear me? Are you okay? Does it hurt—”

Dean opened his mouth, wanting to reassure Castiel. But words wouldn’t come out, stuffed back down in his throat by the pain that was rolling through him in waves, emanating from his stomach. His one hand remaining on his stomach in support of the little ones, Dean’s other flew up to grip the seat back, his fingers curling over and digging into Baby’s leather.

It felt like one of the parasites flipped , and Dean let out an agonized shout, tremors running through him as his body rebelled against the ill treatment.

“Shh, it’s okay, mate, it’s okay,” Castiel soothed desperately. He leaned over from the front seat, reaching desperately to take Dean’s face between his hands.

The car was still moving, even without Castiel looking where they were going or having any hands on the wheel. He had plenty of other appendages to steer with, Dean reasoned, oddly calm about it.

“C-cas—” Dean gasped, trying to speak through his chattering teeth. It felt like even his jaw was ringing with pain, every muscle and joint he had rising from the fuzzy logic of the Enoch-sized tranquilizer he’d been shot with to find nothing but full-body agony on waking.

“It’s too much. There was too much stress. You can’t—” Castiel babbled quietly, seeming so distressed that Dean ached to comfort him somehow. If only a single one of his limbs would cooperate; movement was becoming even more of a lost cause than speech.

“It’s going to be okay,” Castiel said gently, his voice deliberately calming. “I’ve got you, mate, I’ve got you…”

Castiel’s voice drifted away as he stretched two fingers across the space between them, reaching for Dean’s forehead.

All of the pain ebbed away to pillowy nothingness as Dean fell softly into stars.

~~***~~

There was a voice calling him, Dean was sure—but it was so calm here. Warm and dark and safe.

Something nagged at him to pay attention to the voice, but out there—everything was pain, and fear.

So, he’d stay.

~~#####~~

Dean’s eyes fluttered open, and everything was wrong. The ceiling was different—it was a ceiling, first of all, not the beige interior of the Impala roof. He was spread on his back, his legs stretched open wide, and his body was tilted at an odd angle. It took him another second to note, through the thick, heavy fog that surrounded every thought, that his butt had been hoisted up off the bed by something.

A tentacle, he realized. There was one wrapped around his waist, raising up at an angle. Another two tentacles took charge of his legs, one at each ankle, splaying him wide.

Blinking, Dean tried to raise his head and look down a little. He felt like he’d been on the worst bender of his life and been kicked by a horse a few times while he was at it. He didn’t have much luck moving, his limbs leaden and stiff.

“Cas?” Dean croaked quietly. Something twisted within him, sudden and large and painful enough to draw his shoulders up from the bed of their own accord, a shriek erupting from his lungs. “AHHHH!”

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was calm—far too calm, and the effort that it cost him showed at the edge of every word. “I’m going to need you to keep really, really still for me my love, can you do that for me?

“Cas—what’s happening, where are we?—sh*t!” Dean’s breath punched out of him with another agonizing twist.

The pain surged around him, and darkness drifted forth from the back of his mind.

Everything was quiet in Castiel’s safe starscape, that strange mind-place that he had first shared with Dean so long before. It had become as much Dean’s safe place as the alien’s, he now realized, retreating within the darkness to stay safe from the agony of what was real.

Maybe he could just stay here, he told himself.

There was no pain here. It was quiet.

The sensation of being full that Dean experienced when he came around again was nothing like the pleasurable, filled sensation that he so enjoyed during sex. It wasn’t like being lovingly stretched open, it wasn’t even like being roughly pulled apart and enjoying it anyway, burn and all. This was like being impaled, in the totally un-sexy way.

“Cas!” Dean gasped again, panicking as he tried to shake the haze from his perception and focus downwards.

“Shh, mate, it’s okay,” Castiel soothed, desperately calm. “Still. Please. I need to make sure I’m pulling out the babies, and nothing else.”

That sentence was such a mindf*ck that Dean collapsed back into his pillow, the hot tears that streaked his trembling cheeks cascading down the sides of his face and into the fabric.

If normal birth felt like pushing, Dean thought, then this was the exact opposite. It was pulling, tearing something from an orifice where it didn’t want to be and should never have been in the first place. Dean panted and whined, unable to stop his body seizing at the pain; this must be life threatening, his brain announced and panicked for him accordingly.

Like his mind simply rebelled and shut down, Dean sank straight back to the darkness like an old friend.

Even in the safety of the inky star-space, Dean could hear distant noises.

Something encouraging, gentle, determined… afraid.

A piercing scream that—wait, was that him? The twinkling lights around Dean stuttered, pulling him into a much deeper, more silent darkness, far beyond his control.

The next time he was vaguely cognizant, Dean was determined to find out what was happening to him.

Squeezing his eyes together, Dean focused all his effort on looking down.

Did he want to see? Hell no, logically.

Was he gonna anyway? f*ck yes he was. If he was going to end up spending the rest of his life in Depends, he was sure as hell going to know exactly how he ended up that way.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he finally dragged his heavy head into position to see between his legs, but he regretted his decision almost immediately. He squinted and blinked, but the fuzzy image didn’t change—two more tentacles dug inside him, like forceps, gaping him far wider than a person should ever stretch. It was hard to focus, dark clouds at the edge of his eyesight threatening to pull him straight back under.

How long had been drifting in and out?

Did it matter?

Castiel’s body twisted. He was in territory beyond what Dean could describe as being fisted—Castiel was in beyond his elbow, and his pale, terrified face certainly didn’t show any of the enjoyment he’d had when he’d bred Dean, only a day before.

“Please, Dean,” Castiel pleaded. “Try and stay still, try and relax.”

The gaping was still less worrying than the blood. There was a white sheet between Dean and wherever this mattress belonged to. It looked like something from a horror movie—a stomach-curling canvas of thick, red soak and crimson hand prints. Castiel was covered in it too, the tentacles that pried Dean’s ass apart were tinged red. The palest thing in sight was Castiel’s face.

If he just stayed here, in the dark where there was no blood, he didn’t have to see the fear sucking the color from the face of the alien he loved. That had to be better, Dean reasoned.

It was warm here, pleasant, not like the stifling heat of panic that he’d experienced in that room. It felt secure and familiar. He knew that he shouldn’t linger in the dark… but with his options as they were, he chose to remain.

Curling up within himself, Dean let his mind quiet and his eyes drift shut.

Dean cried out, his back arching up off the bed involuntarily. He was shaking, head to toe, unable to stop it or even control it. He felt hot, too hot, sweat mixing with tears on his face. He’d never had this much hurt , nothing had ever felt so wrong as this intrusion. His body seized, and he wept, helpless.

“C-cas—please, stop, I c-can’t, I can’t do it—” Dean sobbed shamelessly, thinking that just dying here, bleeding out on the bed, would be better. “I can’t do it, Cas. I’m not strong enough—”

“Dean, I’ve got you, it’s okay…” Castiel’s words weren’t much of a balm as something tugged within Dean, like it was breaking loose.

Like his insides were coming apart.

“Please…” Dean was weak. He wanted to just give up.

“Relax your muscles, try to push a little. Can you push, Dean? Can you do that for me, mate? For them?”

Dean tried; he tried so hard. He felt Castiel’s arm retreat, taking something with it, something big enough to send whole new waves of agony through his abdomen.

There was a pause so sharp, so profound, it seemed like the spin of Dean’s very atoms ceased their momentum. A held breath.

And then a cry, a beautiful, tiny wail that any species could recognize.

“One down, three to go,” Castiel murmured, his voice weary as he leaned back toward Dean.

“Cas!” Dean cried desperately, no shame or embarrassment left in him. In fact, he wasn’t sure those emotions would ever be valid again after this. “I can’t, it’s too much—”

Castiel shushed him gently, leaning up and over the bed so that Dean got a glimpse of his blue eyes, tired, wide, and glittering with tears of his own. His hand moved toward Dean’s forehead, two fingers extended.

“Okay, my love. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

~~ ##### ~~

The voice was getting louder, deeper, and clearer. He should pay attention to it, he was certain. There were flashes, though—even here in the black, safe starscape.

A streak of light—a now-familiar white-blue glow. The realization of his body, distant, shaking and seizing, though he couldn’t feel it, cocooned here.

Desperate shouts, encouragement, his name.

And then a sound, clear as bell, cutting through the soft, cozy darkness.

A plaintive wail, hiccupping and soft, followed by another, and another. Dean struggled to place the sound, but something in his heart recognized it.

Mentally, somehow reaching, though he had no limbs to move, Dean pulled himself toward the sound. It was safe and warm and full of stars here, but out there, he knew, his family needed him.

“Dean… Dean!” the voice was calling again. Deep. Castiel’s voice. “Come on, mate—wake up for me now, please… please…”

Dean couldn’t stand the sorrow and fear in his tone. He never wanted Castiel to sound like that.

Blinking, he left the starscape behind.

Immediately his hand came up, reaching to grasp at whatever part of Castiel he could reach, to reassure him.

“Hey,” Dean croaked. “Don’t cry, Cas. Whatever it is, we’ll fix it—please don’t cry.”

The alien’s eyes face filled Dean’s vision. His eyes were wide, a glittering ocean as tears streaked down his cheeks. “Dean!”

Woozy, Dean patted at Castiel’s cheek. “That’s me.”

Castiel ducked his head slightly, his forehead coming to Dean’s. His tears were different then, joyful, filling into the wrinkles that formed at the corners of Castiel’s eyes as he grinned widely.

Relief.

Dean dried the tears with the pads of his thumbs. He had a strange sensation of coming back to himself, both mentally and physically; it was a bit like the first second of touching Earth after being zero-G for too long, he decided. He was here. But he hadn’t felt right until his body registered Earth, and then feeling right somehow felt odd and unpracticed.

Deep breaths, he told himself. Just like returning from space; find a point and focus on it.

Castiel’s eyes were his point.

Lost in them for a few minutes, Dean calmed and readjusted. Settled. Came back to Earth.

“What happened?” he croaked. “Where are we?”

“We’re at a Motel 6 just outside of Blythe, California,” Castiel said, pulling back enough to explain. “We’re about three hours away from the California Institute of Technology, where you said Ash was. Or at least, that is what the road signs seem to indicate—I didn’t have anything else to navigate by.”

“You drove us all the way into California?”

“Yes.”

“Where—” Dean struggled to sit up, registering that he was reclined back on a mountain of pillows in a slightly-too-soft bed, a burnt orange bed quilt pulled up over his stomach. His huge, still stomach. If anything, his abdomen was stretched out larger even than it had been at the diner, but it felt totally quiet. Empty. “Cas, what happened—NASA, they—”

Dean panicked, his hands flailing and scrabbling at the blanket.

“Hey, hey—calm down.” Castiel grabbed gently at Dean’s wrists, stilling them. “Everything is okay. At least for now. You need to stay still and let me explain.”

Caught in Castiel’s grip, Dean forced himself to exhale. “Tell me what happened.”

“You saved me, by diving in front of that dart. It was a poison, to you—a strong tranquilizer. To my systems, it would likely have been much worse. A bullet wouldn’t kill me, but the compound you absorbed… that might have.”

Dean blinked slowly. “Oh.”

“Thank you.”

Dean shrugged one shoulder, his whole body stiff but no longer agonized. Instead he just felt weak and sweaty, as if he had the flu. “How did we get away?”

Castiel dropped his eyes, clearly embarrassed. “Well, after chastising you about the violent lengths you would go to for me, it seems that I am more than capable of plenty of violence myself.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean grinned weakly and reached for Castiel’s hand, pulling it from where it knotted the other in his lap and giving it a squeeze. He repeated the alien’s earlier sentiment back to him. “You’re not perfect, Cas. That’s okay.”

Castiel gave a small huff of a laugh, the only indication that he recognized Dean’s response and forgiveness. Instead, he launched back into explaining.

“I was lucky that whatever weapon they used to shoot you took a moment to reload, or they hesitated for some other reason—I was able to flip their vehicle and give us time to escape,” he said, eerily calm.

“You flipped an SUV?” Dean asked, his incredulousness overpowering his weak voice.

“Into the diner.”

“Into—Jesus, Cas.” Dean took a moment, sucking in a deep breath as he looked around the surprisingly clean motel room. There was something to be said for the bigger chains, he supposed. He rested his hand on top of his stomach—a soothing habit, already—and forced himself to ask the next logical question. “Are the babies okay, Cas?”

Castiel’s smile split his face, wide and gummy and exhilarated. “Oh, Dean—they’re more than okay. They’re wonderful.”

Dean blinked. “Wh—”

“Their human blood protected them from the worst of the effects from the poison. But it still hurt them, I’m sure. The pain and discomfort that you felt affected them, and they detached earlier than they should have—but they are fine, Dean. They’re perfect. A little small, but that’s all. They’re sleeping, right now.”

Dean felt oddly numb, his emotions running back and forth in an ambivalent sweep. He circled his hand on his stomach, swallowing hard.

“You’re very swollen. I had to inject you with a lot of my numbing venom to get them out, and you—” There was a slight distressed shake to Castiel’s deep, rumbling voice, though Dean decided to do the guy a solid and not mention it. Instead he just squeezed tightly at his hand once more, urging him to continue. “I was unsure, for a while, if you were going to be okay. I wanted to take you to a hospital, but I didn’t know how to begin explaining, and I panicked, and—”

“Hey.” Dean did his best to give Castiel a reassuring grin. “It all worked out. I’m here. I look like I’m eighteen months pregnant with a horse, but when the swelling goes down, I’m sure I’ll be fine. And you’re fine, and the babies are. That’s it.”

Castiel nodded, smiling again.

“I want to see them,” Dean said, pushing up from the pillows.

“No!” Castiel’s hands darted up to Dean’s shoulders immediately. “Please don’t move yet. Not for a few hours. You were bleeding a lot, it stopped, but—”

“Cas, you can’t seriously expect me to sit here and not—”

“No, no. Of course not. Just relax, Dean. I’ll bring them. After all,” Castiel added with a grin, “we have to decide which ones get which names.”

Despite all of his aches, and pains, and tiredness—not to mention his ass feeling like it had been torn open, even with Castiel’s venom—Dean felt a giddy lift behind his sternum. Obediently, he lay back against his pillows, shuffling himself gingerly toward the center of the bed to make more room.

Castiel rose and moved across the room to where the bathroom was. He’d propped the door open with the trash can, and by craning his neck Dean could see that a pile of towels and the spare bedding had been laid out carefully in layers within the bathtub, making a soft little sleeping area.

“Cas?”

“Yes?” Castiel called out from the bathroom, out of sight behind the door as he bent over the tub.

“Did you seriously put our kids in the bathtub?”

Castiel came out with a pile of gray, cloud-embroidered blankets cradled in his arms. Quietly, he asked, “Well where else was I supposed to have them sleep, Dean? Motel 6 doesn’t provide nurseries.”

Dean had to give him that one. He stretched his neck up, discomfort be damned, trying to peer up into Castiel’s arms.

The alien seemed amused, grinning down at him as he lowered himself to the mattress slowly. “Be patient; let me get settled and you can hold them.”

Dean wasn’t sure what he expected to see. Castiel’s true form was so very different to a human; what traits would they have, from whom? Dean felt his heart pounding in his chest in anticipation as Castiel carefully shifted the blanket over to rest on top of Dean’s bump—the swelling that remained of it—and Dean’s arms rose automatically to support it.

Nestled within were four tiny, doll-looking babies, all tangled around one another peacefully.

“They’ll sleep a lot, to start with,” Castiel near-whispered. “Even more than human children, I believe. It’s hard work being born. But from everything I can tell, they seem healthy.”

Dean stared, enchanted. All four of the tiny, hand-sized young—babies, f*ck parasites—were similar in appearance. Their skin was soft, pale, and human—like Dean. They had pillowy cheeks and tiny thumbs and fists which had already, in two instances, made their way to adorable, human mouths in search of comfort. Beyond that, their bodies were tiny miracles. Wings—beautiful, fully formed wings just like Castiel’s—tucked into their backs, jostling for space in their little cuddle-puddle. Each set of wings was different—one dark, inky black like Castiel’s own. The other three sets lighter; one a soft, tan brown, another a purple-tinged gray, and the final pair almost golden in color. And then, finally, of course—the tentacles. Each little body became many legs at the waist, just like Castiel did. The tentacles were soft, placid in sleep, curled around the edges of the gray blanket as if many-legged hugs were the cure for all the world’s ills.

And maybe they were. Because at that moment, everything suddenly seemed peaceful and clear to Dean.

“They’re amazing, Cas,” he croaked softly.

Castiel leaned against Dean, tilting his head against Dean’s so that they were cheek to cheek, both with matching proud grins. “They are,” he agreed. “They have some of me, and some of you—they have some very human traits, beyond their faces.”

“Oh?” asked Dean, gently extending a single finger within the blanket cocoon, so he could stroke at the incredibly soft, velvety tentacles.

“Biological sex at birth, for one thing. Three girls,” Castiel gestured to the lighter-winged babies, before pointing to the dark-winged one who curled up with them “And one boy. I believe they will be able to project appearance, like me—I’ve seen them phase a little at the edges, already. But they have human voices, and it seems they require human foods—or at least, while you slept, they cried until I went out and found milk. Now they’re full, and very sleepy.”

“I can tell,” Dean chuckled, softly stroking at their heads—all covered with a thin layer of blonde fuzz. They didn’t shift, their tiny chests rising and falling evenly. “They’re so tiny, Cas. I was worried about securing them safely in the car on the way to Kansas, but hell, they could ride in my pocket—it’d be fun.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, turning to look pointedly at Dean. “They certainly will not ride in your pocket. But, we should be able to secure the Moses basket you obtained into the back seat fairly safely with the lap belts.”

Dean turned his head to match, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “You’re never going to let me get away with anything with these kids, are you.”

“No,” said Castiel, smiling smugly.

For long minutes, Dean just gazed down at the tiny beings cradled in his arms, snuggled up in their soft, gray blanket. It was an amazing feeling, to hold them. But also scary—he was responsible for these tiny things, Dean realized. They would rely on him for everything. Well, him and Castiel. At least he wasn’t alone.

Smiling, he shifted on the mattress, letting out a sharp wince as an agonizing pain rolled up from his butt to his stomach, tensing every muscle.

“sh*t,” Dean hissed, moving his arms immediately to pass the children to Castiel. “Everything f*cking hurts.”

Taking the bundle, Castiel looked regretful. “I’m sure it does. I’m so sorry, Dean. I could probably numb you some more, now that I’ve had time to rest.”

“That’d be great, Cas. And there’s nothing to be sorry for. Maybe just don’t ask me to bottom for a while,” Dean responded, forcing out a wink despite his discomfort.

Castiel gave an eyeroll that seemed to encompass his entire body. “Certainly not. I’m under no illusions about the fact that this entire experience has probably been very… off-putting, for you.”

“Hey—” Dean reached out to grasp at Castiel’s hip as he began to rise from the bed to put the babies back in their cozy tub-cocoon. “—I wouldn’t say that, Cas. That’s silly. I still want you just the same, or I will once I don’t feel like I could sh*t myself if I breathe in too deep.”

“That’s disgusting, Dean.”

“Says the guy who wore me like a hand puppet only hours ago.”

Castiel laughed, and Dean was glad of it. Making jokes was how Dean dealt with things if he had to talk about them at all, and he knew that he and Castiel would have to talk about this—plenty—if they were both going to be okay. He was sure that watching him almost bleed out in a position that usually invoked pleasure was going to be a mindf*ck for Castiel as well. But they’d be okay, he was sure.

Castiel came back from the bathroom and settled straight onto the bed next to Dean. He was careful not to jostle the mattress but he seemed to need closeness as much as Dean did; he wrapped his arms carefully around Dean, spread out closely along his side, nuzzled into his neck.

Dean smiled down into Castiel’s hair, leaning carefully back on him in turn. “I love you, Cas,” he whispered down into his dark, uncombed hair, enjoying the feeling of it moving softly on his lips. “And those little ones in there, too… our whole family.”

He felt Castiel’s smile curl against his neck.

“I love you too, Dean. I’m so glad you’re going to be okay. I was… afraid. A lot. It’s been a long day.”

“Sure has,” Dean agreed with a small smile. “So, how about we decide which of the names we liked those little babies get, hmm?”

Castiel nodded his agreement, and they rested as best they could, debating and quibbling softly until they had decided.

~~***~~

To: [emailprotected]

From: [emailprotected]

Subject: Important Update

In the wind, Handmaiden. Don’t worry about me.

Naomi and Cole left Merritt Island in an unmarked, Purge LLC registered helicopter at 19:00 this evening, headed west. The flight plan was sealed.

Be careful.

DO NOT RESPOND.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Dean and Castiel got on the road to Caltech before the sun was up—which had been a good plan, as the traffic in Pasadena was a total bitch. Instead of being calmed now that he wasn’t carrying the babies in his stomach, Dean was far more tense. They’d seemed safer, somehow, when he could literally carry them with him. He was worried about Charlie, worried about protecting Cas and the kids, worried about staying under the radar and managing to start a new life somewhere. It was a worrying morning.

It had been a beautiful drive in the early dawn, though, the Impala cruising smoothly through the Joshua trees in the national park. As the day brightened around them, springy and warm and California-perfect, the four little ones snoozed contentedly in their Moses basket. It was carefully wedged down in the back footwell of the Impala, where it couldn’t slide around. It was as secure as they could make it—though Dean had a feeling that, out of sight, Castiel still kept a tentacle wrapped around the basket protectively. He didn’t mention it, half-wishing he could do the same.

Castiel drove, as Dean had been in too much pain to rest well. He lay slumped on his side in the passenger seat, curled up, his body still punishing him for the ordeal he’d put it through. But it was okay. His discomfort, trembling, and sweating was worth it, given the four adorable little beings in the back. Dean had always heard, of course, what it felt like to love a child. He’d imagined it, told himself he’d have enjoyed every moment of the feeling, if he’d ever have been able to have any of his own. It turned out, unsurprisingly, that he was unprepared for how intense it felt. Most people probably were, he figured.

He and Castiel had taken it in turns to do everything for the babies, working it out as they went along. They certainly ate like human babies—when they wanted milk, they sure let their dads know about it.

Dean shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Castiel had tucked Jack’s thin, worn blanket around him when he’d settled Dean in the car as they left Blythe, and he had to admit it was strangely comforting. The fabric slid softly across his itching, stretched stomach as he moved. When he’d gone to get dressed that morning, he had realized that the stretched-out Zeppelin shirt that had been his pregnancy staple was no longer going to cut it, simply unable to stretch any further over all the swelling.

Castiel had quietly handed him his own white button-down shirt, sliding Dean’s arms inside and doing up the buttons to the bottom of his rib cage. Below that it hung open, revealing Dean’s stomach—tiger striped, by then. The blanket concealed him though, and Dean was at least moderately hopeful that the swelling was starting to go down. He still couldn’t buckle his pants properly, but he felt at least slightly-less balloon-like than the night before.

Castiel looked across at Dean from where he was driving, following the road signs for Caltech. He gave him a small smile. “Uncomfortable?”

Dean nodded.

“We’re almost there, at least. What are you going to tell Ash?”

Dean took a deep breath before he shrugged. “The truth, honestly.”

Castiel raised a silent eyebrow before he turned his attention back to the road, squinting thoughtfully at a large overhead sign telling them which lane they needed to be in.

While Castiel slowly changed lanes, Dean told him about Ash.

“I’ve known Ash since I was a little kid. If you think Gabriel or Charlie are a little bit out there… Ash is a whole other level. I remember him talking to me about aliens when I was in my twenties just out of college, waiting for my applications to the NASA Development Program to be processed. The dude presented me with a whole whiteboard of math calculating the likelihood of me meeting an alien,” Dean said, laughing as he remembered. “He’s also the most chill guy on the planet. Won’t blink much of an eye.”

“If you say so,” Castiel said, craning his head back to check on the babies with an affectionate smile as they drove. “So, Ash is a mathematician? Who provides fake I.D.s on the side?”

“I guess Ash is a mathematician, if you look at that way. But he’s a lot of things. He learned the more underhanded things that he knows back when he was a teenager, and it turned out that half the things he was into weren’t quite kosher with the government.”

“What is he studying at Caltech?” Castiel asked curiously.

“Something with robotics, I think.” Dean shrugged. “Way above my head. He has a handful of degrees already, in everything from security systems to physics. The dude has an IQ of 194—the same as Garry Kasparov, he told me once.”

“Garry Kasparov?”

“A chess player. Brainy dude.”

Castiel jammed the heel of his hand down on Baby’s horn, yelling something at an illegally passing car in Enochian that Dean had to assume was just as obscene as it sounded.

“Really, Cas? You’re not, like, above road rage? What with your larger-than-a-lemon brain and all?” Dean asked, amused.

“It’s not road rage if they’re just driving like idiots, Dean.”

Dean lowered his smirk into the blanket. “Okay, well, as we’re getting closer to Caltech, I guess I should call Ash.”

He grabbed his cell phone from the dashboard, apprehensively turning it on. It was the first time that he’d used it since Sam had alerted them to the fact that NASA were on to them, as it had just seemed too dangerous and easy to track. But it was the only place that Dean had Ash’s phone number saved, and he wasn’t sure that the crazy-paranoid dude would even answer an unknown number.

Castiel gave him an encouraging smile before turning back to the road, focusing his squinty, Enochian ire back on the morning commuters of Pasadena.

The phone only rang once.

“Dean, my man! I’ve been waiting for your call,” Ash’s lazy voice greeted him warmly.

Dean blinked, putting the phone on speaker and placing it on the seat next to him. “You have?”

“Dude, of course.”

“Uh, okay. Should I ask?” Dean couldn’t help a small grin.

“None of it is that hard to figure out. You’ve been on the news, man. Didn’t take much digging to find the rest. Made a few calls. Gabriel put me in touch with his fellow tin-hat Frank, who got me the footage of your new friend,” Ash said pointedly, “busting out of the containment site, the bunker beneath De Soto State Forest.”

Dean looked over to Castiel. “Apparently you were held beneath the State Forest.”

“Yup, dude. In Ramsey Springs,” Ash added, smug.

“Huh,” Dean added concisely.

“Nice to meet you, Castiel,” Ash said, sounding entirely self-satisfied.

“Hello, Ash.”

“So how did you piece all this together, really? Because even if you knew about—” Dean began.

“Oh, easy peasy,” Ash interrupted. “Charlie’s here.”

“What?!” Dean felt his jaw drop, clacking it back shut when Castiel looked far too amused. “But Charlie was in Merritt Island just last night…”

“There are these amazing machines called airplanes, Dean,” came Charlie’s voice, distantly behind Ash. “I told you not to worry.”

“Bitch, I worried,” Dean snapped.

“Of course you did,” Charlie responded, just as smug as Ash.

Dean pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, relaxing just slightly as he felt some of the stress ease out of the back of his neck. If anyone had this, it was a Charlie-Ash combo team. “Alright, you two. What’s the plan?”

“I’ve got your new social security numbers ready to go. I can whip up some I.D.s and two drivers licenses the second you give me names. I’ll retcon your school records too, can easily change it so that whoever-the-f*ck you want graduated with a 4.0, man.”

“Why do you even bother earning degrees, Ash, when you can make them so easily?” Dean chuckled.

“Learning is fun, Dean-o. And college campuses have the best weed.”

Dean chuckled. “That does sound perfect for you.”

“Sure is. So—names?”

Dean looked over to Castiel, smiling, before relaying the names they’d chosen. “Michael Smith and his husband James Smith.”

Charlie made an exaggerated aww-ing noise.

“Dudes, send a guy an invite to the celebration, next time,” Ash teased.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled. “We can’t have a wedding so at least let me have this sh*t, guys.”

“Man, Bobby is gonna—”

Dean groaned. “Okay, okay, enough. Let me deal with Bobby, you do what you do best and get me some papers, capiche?”

Ash didn’t even attempt to hide his laughter. “I capiche, bud. You know I’m only kidding. You do what you want with your consenting alien, dude—I’m all for free lovin’.”

“Of course you are, you f*ckin’ tech hippy.” Dean grinned and picked the phone back up. “Alright. Well, we should be there soonish, we’re just at…” Dean paused to squint around, looking for the most helpful road sign.

“No worries, I’ve got you. You’re just coming off 210, onto North Hill Avenue—head up to Caltech, follow the signs for Catalina grad housing. We’ll meet you.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He should have known that Ash was triangulating their location from the second he picked up. “Alright, dude. I owe you big time, you know that. Hey—one last thing?”

“What up?” Ash asked.

“You got a shirt I can borrow? Like… a really, really big one?”

Charlie dissolved into giggles in the background as Ash replied.

“I’ve never been a man to keep much extra padding dude, but I can hook you up with a giftcard to the maternity store, so you won’t have to use your credit card.”

“f*ck both of you.”

~~***~~

Catalina Graduate Housing apartments turned out to be fairly standard grad student homes, at least to Dean’s knowledge, even if they were a bit sunnier and greener than where Dean had been to school. The reddish-brown board buildings had big white numbers on the sides, small wooden balconies and neat little courtyards. The pavement was interspersed with young palm trees that soaked up the early morning Californian sun.

Castiel drove slowly, as they weren’t sure whereabouts in the complex Ash and Charlie would be. It didn’t take them long to find the pair—Ash was casually stood in the middle of the road in a pair of scuffed skinny jeans, shirtless and barefoot, smoking a fat joint as he waited for them. His hair was longer than the last time Dean had seen him, his blond mullet hitting half way down his back.

“Dude!” Ash waved, obviously recognizing the Impala from a distance, and gestured toward a small parking complex behind him.

The covered parking was a sudden jolt from the light outside, deeply shaded and easily cooler than the sun-lit grassy areas they’d driven through. Charlie waited within, dramatically flagging Dean into a particular parking spot with both of her arms, like a crazed air hostess mid safety briefing.

Castiel cut the engine, and Dean rolled down his window.

“What’s with the specific parking, Charles? We won’t be here that long.”

The redhead gave him an exasperated look. “This is the corner we cut the security cameras in, doofus. We need to change Baby’s plates.”

“Oh.”

“Unless of course,” Ash’s much lazier voice arrived from behind Charlie, “you want to do the sensible thing and ditch the damn car.”

“What? Dude—”

“It’s really recognizable, Dean.”

“No f*cking way! This was my dad’s car, there’s no way in hell I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, we thought so,” Charlie interrupted. “Hence the plates. But let it be known—we both advised you to ditch the damn Impala. Now, hop on out and we’ll go through this stuff and rename her.”

“Easier said than done,” Dean grumbled, starting to shift over to his side, beginning the agonizing process of sitting upright. Castiel’s hand came to his shoulder, holding him gently back.

“Charlie,” Castiel called out, opening the driver side door and sliding out himself, “can we do this with Dean in the car? He’s had a very rough night and it’s best for him to stay still as he heals.”

“Cas!” Charlie skipped over to give the alien a crushing hug. “It’s good to see you, space boy. Is Dean okay?”

Watching from the passenger window, Dean frowned. “I’m fine. Or I will be. Cas is just being overprotective.”

Ash gave Castiel a once over, then nodded at him with the barest hint of a smile. “Sounds like you need that of late, Dean-o. So, I’ll support whatever the handsome trench-coat guy says.”

Castiel looked far too smug for Deans liking, before he turned back to Charlie. “Dean will be fine. We ran into a situation in Arizona, we had to deliver the babies early.”

A squeal of excitement erupted from Charlie. “Oh my GOD! CAS! You should have said! Can we see them?”

To Dean’s amusem*nt, even Ash looked eager.

“They’re sleeping at present, so please be quiet,” Castiel said with a soft smile. He opened the back door of the Impala and held it wide, so that Charlie and Ash could duck their heads in to see where the little ones’ Moses basket was wedged down out of sight.

“Oh my gosh they are so small,” Charlie cooed. “And so adorable!”

“Woah, freaky,” Ash commented. “Cute, but freaky.”

“Hey,” Dean grumbled weakly. “Those are my kids you're talking about.”

Ash laughed. “The tentacles are freaky, I dunno what you want from me here, dude.”

Castiel squinted firmly, but given that Ash had a thick wedge of papers they needed tucked under his arm, neither he nor Dean said anything else.

Stubbing out his joint on the rough brick of the interior wall of the parking complex, Ash tucked the remaining half behind his ear. He motioned Castiel over and opened up the manila envelope he carried.

“Michael and James Smith, may I present: your new identities.”

One by one, Ash handed Castiel all the paperwork. He took it all very seriously, nodding and studying it all closely.

“State I.D.s – Michael was born in Kansas, and you, James, were born in Illinois. Drivers licenses, both class C. Insurance cards, social security cards, and college transcripts for Dean, showing Michael’s brilliant engineering abilities.”

“Thank you, Ash. I appreciate everything you have done for Dean—and for me, as a stranger,” Castiel said solemnly.

“Eh, you might be a stranger, but if Dean trusts you, loves you… that’s enough. You’re family, man.”

Dean lost track of Castiel’s response to Ash as Charlie approached the passenger side of the Impala, crossing her arms and leaning onto the open window frame with her elbows.

“You look like sh*t, Dean,” she said.

“Thanks, Chuckles. Missed you too.”

Charlie grinned. “You better. It’s a twenty-four-hour drive from here up to Kansas—are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Dean nodded. “I just need some rest. Having living beings ripped out of your tail pipe is f*cking exhausting, but Cas’ll drive so I can rest.”

“Gross, so gross.”

They chatted for a few moments more while Ash produced a screwdriver—God knows where from, as he was literally only wearing skinny jeans—and began removing and replacing the Impala’s license plates. Sunshine State tags were exchanged for The Wheat State, and within minutes, they were ready to go.

“Better get out of here,” Charlie advised. “Get straight to Kansas, as fast as you can. I’ll contact you soon—gotta find out how those babies are doing.”

“What about you, Charlie? Why did you leave?” Dean fretted, feeling worn from all the talking and excitement. Even so, he couldn’t leave without asking. “Did you have to leave NASA? Because of me?”

“Don’t worry about it, dude.” Charlie smiled crookedly. “Not the first time I’ve relocated for sticking my nose where it shouldn’t be. How’d you think I ended up at college with you in the first place?”

Dean blinked. “I just… I thought maybe the computer science program was good.”

Charlie snorted. “Good enough to pull me all the way from Michigan? Nah. I mean, do you really think that Bradbury is my real name?”

Dean glared as Charlie winked, not knowing whether she was joking or not, and finding that as long as she wasn’t mad at him, he was good either way.

Ash came up to the window, elbowing Charlie aside. He tossed a small, plastic contraption into Dean’s lap. “There you are, compadre. Simple tracker, rear left axle. Deactivated now, you’re welcome—though I’m sure they already know you’re here. So, get your dumb asses straight to Kansas. Don’t stop, don’t look back.”

Dean blinked down at the tiny, now useless, piece of gear. Powered by a watch battery, it wasn’t much bigger than his thumb nail.

f*ck. How damn stupid was I, when this all started? How f*cking naive?

Luckily, or unluckily, the new Dean Winchester was quickly learning better.

“Thanks, Ash,” he said quietly, reaching up to wipe the sweat from his brow. “You and Charlie have saved our asses. We’ll always owe you, buddy.”

“Damn straight, dude,” Ash agreed with a wink. “Now get out of here.”

~~***~~

Just the simple act of talking to his friends, mixed with the relief at having all the papers they needed and knowing that Charlie was okay, was enough to knock Dean out. He was in an exhausted sleep before they even got out of the Caltech area.

He was dreaming contentedly—a calming dream of stars and flight that he had an odd feeling that Castiel might have something to do with—when he was suddenly jolted awake.

The car careened wildly to the left.

“Cas?” Dean mumbled, quickly rubbing his eyes awake.

Castiel was hunched over the wheel. Baby was rattling along at breakneck speed, fishtailing off the road leading to Las Vegas that Castiel had been following.

“Dean!” Castiel sounded incredibly tense, the end of Dean’s name raising in panic as it rolled of his tongue. “Behind us!”

Dean grunted, struggling against his aching body to turn and look back over the seat. Worryingly low above the road, a few hundred feet behind them on the edge of the horizon and gaining, was a small black helicopter.

“sh*t.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut. “f*ck. What do we do now?”

“Hold on tight, firstly,” Castiel said. His voice had slipped into an angry growl, and damn it, Dean did not have the time or energy to be aroused by that.

Dean braced himself against the dashboard as Castiel swung the car around a corner again, hurtling down a sideroad, his knuckles white on the wheel.

“We’re not going to be able to outrun them!” Dean called over the roaring noises of his poor, precious Impala being pushed far beyond her limits. “They’re flying, for f*cks sake!”

“I know that, Dean!” Castiel snapped. “But we have to get away from other vehicles!”

With a tire-burning screech, Castiel pulled them off I-15 with a breakneck left turn. Dean saw a sign zoom past for Lytle Creek Road, not that knowing the name helped him in any way to get his bearings.

The marks of civilization that had been littered around the edges of the main highway dropped away quickly, turning to arid, scrubby fields of rock, sand, and weed tufts that bridged the line between mountain and desert.

There wasn’t a car in sight as Castiel pushed Baby to her limits, the needle of her speedometer trembling at the top. The universe seemed to close in around them; all that Dean could conceive of was this desolate, parched road through the State Park, the car around them, and the helicopter behind.

Naomi and Cole—for there was clearly no doubt who flew behind them—were very easily gaining on them, the hundred-and-twenty miles-per-hour or more that Castiel was squeezing out of the Impala still less than half the hundred and forty knots or so that Dean knew a helicopter could easily manage.

A frightened wail from behind Castiel’s seat was soon joined by three more of the same. Dean turned himself in his seat, gritting his teeth against the discomfort that twisting caused in his still-swollen abdomen.

“Hey, babies,” Dean comforted desperately, reaching his hand over the back of the seat and pushing up as best he could to dangle his hand down into the Moses basket. He wiggled his fingers, encouraging the scared little ones to curl their tentacles around him. “Shhh, it’s okay. Did all the bouncing scare you, huh? Shhh…”

The babies showed zero sign of calming down, and Dean couldn’t really blame them.

“Cas?” Dean asked fearfully, leaving his hand in the basket as a comfort. He looked back to the driver seat, where Castiel was focused entirely on the road, pale and frowning. “What do we do now?”

Castiel risked a look back over his shoulder. The helicopter was close enough that they could make out the two passengers. The road up ahead thinned out and began to snake between the hills. To their left, it began to drop away as they rode higher. They were quickly running out of places to go.

“We’ve only got two choices, I think,” Castiel said. “Either I get out, we hope I’ll be enough for them, and you take the babies and drive to Bobby’s—”

“No,” Dean snapped, instantly angry. “Don’t you dare do that to us, Cas!”

“Dean! Better me than the children, or you,” Castiel growled, his voice reaching the unearthly gravelly depths that Dean knew signaled trouble.

Still leaning over the back of the Impala seat, Dean punched the leather in frustration. “No! We’re not doing that, okay? I refuse to lose you. Plus, you know what, Cas? If Naomi and Cole get their hands on you? That means they win, Cas—and f*ck that, and f*ck them.”

Castiel was unphased, his jaw tightening as he focused on keeping the Impala on the twisting road. “If you think I won’t sacrifice—”

“Less sacrifice and more Plan B, alright?!” Dean yelled back, raising his voice over the deafening whirr of approaching helicopter blades.

“Well, the only other option is that we get out and fight,” Cas said angrily. “And somehow I don’t picture that working out too well for us.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed through gritted teeth. “What with them being in a f*cking helicopter and all.”

Still soothing at the panicking, screaming babies with one hand, Dean looked around desperately. The roads they were on were getting thinner as the Impala roared deeper into the hills of Angeles National Forest. Dean didn’t know the area well enough to be able to tell where they were, but there was one thing he suddenly grasped onto.

“Hills—Cas, we’ve gotta get deeper into the hills! If we manage to get onto one of these side trails”—Dean gestured as he spoke—“they won’t be able to follow us so closely. It’d take a particularly skilled pilot to fly right between all these hillsides leading up to the mountains. It might force them out of the helicopter to face us, at least.”

Even before Dean was done speaking, Castiel had them hurtling off-road—definitely terrain the Impala wasn’t meant for, but for once, Dean wasn’t thinking about his car. If the alien could get them across the rocky scrubland between the road and the trail, they might stand a chance of forcing their pursuers to continue on foot.

As the car squealed and protested, shaking under Castiel’s insistence at speed and causing clouds of dust to spray up around them, the babies wailed and cried, clinging frantically to each other and to Dean for dear life.

Despite the situation, Dean took a breath. As Castiel tried his best to do the impossible and outrun a helicopter, Dean began to sing, as he remembered his own mom doing for him when he was upset as a kid.

“Hey Jude, don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better…”

With a horrific bounce that Baby’s suspension would likely never forgive, Castiel made it up onto the trail. Immediately spinning the wheel and getting her moving once more, he led them up between the hills.

“Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better…”

The helicopter began to slow, hovering around above them as if Naomi and Cole were trying to work out how to get to them. Dean saw Castiel’s eyes flick across the windshield, trying to keep the aircraft in sight.

“Hey Jude, don't be afraid…”

“Dean, they’re landing!” Castiel yelled. “Look!”

He was right—the helicopter was lowering vertically down to the scrubland next to the trail in front of them. It was, Dean noted, a small, two-person aircraft that was entirely devoid of NASA insignia.

“Cas—I really think they’re working alone.” Dean frowned as he hurriedly spoke. “Charlie kept talking about that ‘Purge LLC’ company, right?”

“Yes.” Castiel sounded unsure, but he let Dean speak as he jammed on the Impala brakes, so as not to get them any closer to the landing helicopter.

It was only Dean’s lap belt under his bump and his arm over the back of his seat, clinging to the babies, that saved him from being thrown into the windshield at the sudden stop. Doggedly, he continued. “I don’t know what Cole and Naomi have to do with each other, how he got her on his side—but I think it is just her, Cas. Nothing we’ve seen—from the SUV to the truck they took you in from the Kennedy Center—none of it looked like it belonged to NASA. If Naomi was actually in league with them, she’d have access to all their resources, Cas—she wouldn’t need random SUVs or private helicopters. NASA has entire fleets of that stuff.”

“So, what are you saying?” Castiel asked, backing up Baby along the trail.

“I’m saying that I don’t think the government actually knows anything about you, Cas. I think, other than the sh*t they made up about me stealing information, that this is all just Cole and Naomi’s personal vendetta, and if—” Dean’s lips were dry, despite his sweating face, and he paused to moisten them. “—if we can get rid of them, Cas…”

“It all ends with them.” Castiel nodded. “I follow. Naomi was working from within NASA—but not with them.”

“Do you think we have any chance?” Dean asked quietly.

Castiel cut the Impala’s engine, and immediately turned to check on the babies behind him. While Dean had sung to them before, their cries had softened to gentle whimpers and sniffles. Castiel smiled down at them, smoothing his fingers gently across all four little blond heads.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, turning back. He reached into the interior pocket of his trench coat, pulling out the gun Dean had forced onto him back at the diner outside Phoenix. He turned it over in his hand, slowly. “But we have to try. When I last met Coliel…I was a child. I have to hope it will go differently this time.”

“Cas—” Dean shifted in his seat, reaching out toward Castiel instinctively.

Castiel stopped Dean with hard kiss, pulling him forcefully across the seat bench by the front of the half-buttoned white dress shirt that Dean still wore. The material strained and their teeth crashed in what was certainly the most desperate kiss that Dean had ever felt. Dean’s forehead was drenched with sweat, and Castiel’s felt cold by comparison as he pressed them together.

“Dean, you are going to stay in this car and protect our children—do you understand me?”

“No, Cas, I can’t just—”

Cas forced their lips together again, though it was softer, more desperate. “Don’t make me force you, Dean. Please.”

Dean squeezed his eyes tight shut, furious and sick. He knew Castiel probably had ways to make him stay here, if he had to. But he also knew, in some small part of his mind that he hated, that Castiel was right.

“Okay, Cas. I’ll stay.”

~~***~~

In another life, as recently as six months ago, Dean wouldn’t have believed what he was seeing.

Castiel had wasted no time when he got out of the car—every second he allowed to pass gave Naomi and Cole an edge. After checking Dean was still armed, Castiel slammed the door behind him, and he began to transform..

Dean remembered, distantly, the first time he had ever seen Castiel’s true form. Cloaked in his starscape of dreams, Castiel had wanted to show Dean who he was, had wanted them to know each other...In another world, on another planet, where they’d fallen in love. Everything was so different by then, but even so, it was still intimidating to see Castiel as his real Enoch self.

He towered above the ground, three or four feet taller than Dean, even at rest—but drawn up onto his strong, lengthy tentacles, Castiel easily added another six feet or so. His form caused vast, winged shadows across the arid scrubland he dashed through. He moved lightning fast, running in a smooth, slithering fashion that Dean’s eyes could never quite keep track of. It was like watching a giant octopus hunt down prey, and Dean had never in his life been more grateful to be at the top of the food chain.

Surprising Dean, both Naomi and Cole exited the helicopter.

Naomi had with her one of the huge, grenade launcher-style weapons that Dean had watched her capture Castiel with back in Merritt Island when they’d both landed on Earth.

When Dean had thought that Castiel was gone. When he hadn’t protected him.

This time, however, Castiel knew exactly what it was, and he wouldn’t be fooled twice. Human reflexes had absolutely nothing on Enoch, Dean quickly realized—he’d seen Castiel move, sure, but he’d never seen him attack.

The weapon flew from Naomi’s hand, grasped by the end of one of Castiel’s tentacles so quickly that Dean wasn’t sure he really saw it happen. Dean’s eyes fixed on the tentacle, noting the criss-crossed lines of scarring that covered Castiel’s dark skin.

Yes, Naomi was human. Practically helpless in front of Castiel, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to feel any pity for her.

Castiel’s huge, shredded wings stretched out in the breeze from the still-slowing helicopter blades, and the arm-length launcher came to pieces in his grip. The gun was nothing more than an incomplete metal and plastic puzzle on the desert floor, the remaining scraps tossed aside.

Dean knew—logic told him—that Cole was older that Castiel. He’d been killing Castiel’s kind for a long time before Castiel was even born—and a long time by Castiel’s standards was geological eons by Dean’s. Even so, Dean slid down in the Impala seat, instinctively reaching for the Moses basket and pulling it over to the front seat with him as Cole began to transform.

Son of a bitch.

The babies were quiet, huddled together in the basket, their eyes wide. Dean didn’t know if they had any empathic abilities like their Enoch daddy, it was a bit early to tell. Right then, he hoped not, because Cole terrified him. He slid his hand down into the blanket they snuggled with, feeling their tentacles wrap around him tightly, dozens of tiny velveteen appendages just jostling for a little space on his skin. He shushed them softly, trying to project soothing vibes as best he humanly could. Humming gently to them, Dean turned back to look out of the window.

Coliel, in his Enoch form, was a murky, unpleasant brown. Maybe it was favoritism, but Dean didn’t even begin to find the elder Enoch’s tentacles appealing—they weren’t as plush and thick as Castiel’s, instead appearing skinnier, lighter in color, and covered with dark brown suckers. He was, however, at least triple Castiel’s size, if not more.

“f*ck,” Dean muttered under his breath. There was no way Castiel could—

One of Coliel’s tentacles darted out with hideous precision, snaking between one of the gaps in Castiel’s ruined wings and grasping around the exposed bone, yanking him off his feet.

Castiel growled and thrashed.

The air around Dean felt electrified and he knew, without looking, exactly when Castiel’s eyes illuminated with their white-blue glow

Naomi remained at the feet of the two Enoch. She was slowly backing up, her head tilted up at the two fighting aliens above her. To Dean’s deep, cruel satisfaction, she looked terrified.

Perhaps she’d had no idea what she had really been getting herself into.

Dean didn’t really care.

One of the babies gave a high-pitched, uneasy whine, and Dean desperately hummed louder, reaching out his free, tentacle-less hand to stroke at their heads.

“It’s okay. It’ll all be fine, he’s going to be fine, I know it,” Dean lied.

The ground beneath Baby began to shake—and while that wasn’t exactly uncommon in that area of California, Dean knew it wasn’t a regular earthquake.

The two Enoch, barely a hundred yards from the car, were screaming, yelling something in their deep, throaty language which Dean couldn’t hear but he could certainly feel vibrating up through the wheels of the Impala.

That was when Dean noticed Naomi once more, having apparently regained enough sense and mobility to be heading to the helicopter.

Cole tightened his grip around Castiel’s broken wings, squeezing a long, furious roar out of him… and Dean couldn’t take it anymore.

Naomi was not going to escape, and Castiel was not going to die.

Far more calmly than he’d have ever thought, Dean carefully lifted the Moses basket into the back, murmuring soothing words to the little ones as he secured them behind the seat. They stayed quiet, watching him with huge eyes—human, but still breathtakingly blue. It was like they knew that something was happening, something important. They clung to each other, and Dean longed to take them out of the basket and cuddle them close, calm them, reassure them—but right then, he had to save their future for them instead.

Dean dragged his swollen, aching body over to the driver’s seat.

Jack’s blanket slipped from him as he moved, Castiel’s shirt—sweaty and crumpled by then—framing his stomach as he squeezed behind the wheel. Dean reached across to take the small black gun that Castiel had ensured he had from the dashboard, and then settled it into his right hand. Gritting his teeth against the protesting muscles that still insisted he had been unfairly impaled very recently, Dean pushed through and released the hand brake.

Dean was in no shape to fight. He knew that much. But sitting idly by as Naomi dashed back toward the helicopter, while Castiel screamed and growled and fought someone three times his size in the background—Dean Winchester could not do that. That just wasn’t who he was. Castiel could be mad later, as long as there was a ‘later’.

Having few choices about what moves he had time to make, Dean sent a silent prayer of apology to the Impala before flooring the accelerator.

Naomi had her hand already on the door handle of the helicopter by the time Baby’s front fender crashed into the side of it, effectively blocking the door shut and smashing Naomi against it with a sickening crunch of metal and flesh.

Her scream—first of pain and surprise, but then quickly morphing into a roar of anger to rival Castiel’s—was directed straight at Dean, and formed his name. The tall, sharp-faced woman with harshly cropped blond hair leaned over the front of the Impala, beating her fists down onto the hood as she screamed.

“You! You ruined everything!”

Dean tried to stand tall and imposing as he got out of the car, but his body had other plans. He staggered, he sweat, he hurt—but he wouldn’t back down. So he stood, his bowlegs even farther apart than usual to support his heavy, swollen stomach. Castiel’s white dress shirt flapped in the breeze, but Dean didn’t much care, his focus elsewhere; on the barrel of the gun he pointed straight forward.

“You won’t shoot me,” Naomi hissed through the pain of what Dean thought must be a pretty horrifically crushed pelvis, given the way the helicopter doors bowed around her.

“Taking bets?” Dean panted from the effort of standing with the gun steady. “The safety of my family, or you… Try me.”

Dean clicked the safety off.

Naomi struggled, trapped, and Dean had to admit to himself that he took a certain sick joy in seeing here there—the hunter now hunted. Her body bowed over the Impala hood, and Dean could already see her gray suit turning glossy and crimson. A trail of blood began at the corner of her mouth, dripping onto Baby as she coughed, helpless.

Another ear-shattering roar to Dean’s left dragged his attention from Naomi. Cole had caught on to the fact that Naomi was in trouble, and whatever relationship the two had, he cared enough to be super pissed about it. Rearing up on his tentacles, Cole smacked Castiel solidly around the face with one of his giant, jacked arms. His torso was almost grotesquely muscled, snaked with popping veins; not a look Dean found attractive on any species.

Castiel stumbled back, his tentacles flapping and sliding wildly to keep him upright. Cole turned his attention onto Dean. His stomach flip-flopped and clenched, causing him a grimace of agony despite his best intentions to stay strong.

“Dean!”

While Castiel yelled his name—probably equal parts afraid for him as Cole advanced, and equal parts pissed that Dean had left the car—but Dean was too focused.He was trapped in a triangle between the tail of the helicopter, the Impala, and Cole.

So he did the only thing he could.

Grunting out loud, although his body protested, Dean forced his legs to cooperate long enough to dive under the helicopter tail and run around to the other side. Hauling himself in through the pilot-side door, Dean ignored every flight-safety training he’d ever completed, simply grabbing ahold of the control stick and yanking it upwards.

When he was younger, Dean had been afraid to fly. It had been his only objection to joining the NASA Academy. Bobby had been to one to order Dean to trial-of-fire his ass through his fear by gifting him flying lessons for his birthday.

A helicopter was nothing to fly, really, compared to what he was used to—he’d landed space shuttles, after all. But this helicopter had been run into by a speeding Chevy, and so was entirely dented down one side… Aerodynamic, it was not. Nonetheless, it shifted unevenly into the air.

Through the sound of the blades spinning overhead, Dean got a feel for the craft’s switch plate motion and eased her forward. Dean heard a scream—probably Naomi, he reasoned in the back of his mind, either released from her entrapment between the two machines, most likely to die instantly, or crushed further between them.

He didn’t stop to check.

Throwing best flight practice out the window, Dean struggled to keep an eye on where he was going, steering, and leaning into the back seat. His straining his huge, swollen stomach stretched as he blindly fumbled in the storage space behind the two seats..

He knew there would be weapons, in here.And if they had something that could incapacitate Castiel, it could also incapacitate Cole.

He hoped.

To Dean’s right, Cole arched his tawny wings, flapping them angrily. The helicopter bucked wildly in the wind, and Dean was forced to grab the steering bar with two hands for a moment.

“Mother f*cker,” Dean yelled—mostly to himself—as he wrestled with the controls. Angling the bar to the right, he flew straight at Cole’s face, forcing him back. “How’d you like that! Ain’t so squishy and defenseless now, am I, huh? Touch my f*cking husband, asshole?! I’ll chopper you in the FACE!”

He was pretty sure Cole couldn’t hear him, but it sure made Dean feel better.

Bringing the helicopter up further, hopefully out of Cole’s reach, Dean reached back again. Behind the seats was a black plastic storage trunk that he was praying would contain something to help.

He almost cried with relief as he finally got his fingers under the latch and flipped the lid open. His hand closed around the carrying handle of one of Naomi’s large, military-looking guns just as the craft lurched terrifyingly to the left.

There was a horrific grinding noise, and Dean pulled the control stick at the side of his seat up as hard as he could—but the helicopter only whirred angrily and bucked. Dean clung onto his seat like a rodeo champ, letting out a yell as his sore ass was thrown around yet again. He didn’t even have to look out of the window to guess that Cole had his skinny brown tentacles around the landing skids.

Dean yanked Naomi’s grenade-launcher up to his shoulder, just waiting for the moment when Cole pulled him down low enough. Awful, tearing sounds of twisting metal filled the air.

With a calmness that could only come from panic, Dean watched the world move in slow-motion.

The helicopter lurched downwards so sharply that Dean lost his footing. As it was pulled down into Cole’s outstretched, tugging tentacles, Dean fired.

The universe paused entirely for the moment it took Dean to make out Cole’s startled face, before he disappeared—forced down into his human form, just as Castiel had been on the wing of Ares 1. The whirring blades overhead cut off suddenly, allowing Dean to hear everything around him.

A high-pitched scream—Naomi? Was she still alive?—filled the air, then cut off with a sickening growl of finality from Castiel down below. There was a wet thump that Dean just knew, horrifically, was half of Naomi sliding off Baby’s hood.

Dean heard Castiel’s deep voice throb deeper, screaming a single word in Enoch, until his ears lost it. The air vibrated from the low-pitched sound as the aircraft rolled.

And then… the helicopter plummeted.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Every now and again when Dean slept, he would hear the sound of helicopter blades.

The helicopter rolled to the side, flipping over as it sped toward the ground. Not strapped in, from the rush he’d been in, Dean was thrown against the front window.

He saw the slow moment of horror in Castiel’s eyes as the craft tumbled.

He saw it grow further as the alien registered it plummeting on a collision path with the Impala below.

And then impossibly further as Castiel realized that the babies were still in the car.

Castiel’s moment of terrified indecision always featured in these nightmares; Dean always screamed, shouted, tried to tell him that it was okay, that he understood—but this Castiel, the one in the dream, could never hear him.

And then his own instinctual terror took over, for the couple of seconds he had left before screaming metal and frightening speed turned his world black.

The next thing to always feature in the dreams was the fire—the engine of the helicopter combusting, the Impala crushed below it, igniting only moments later. Dean was aware of it, but saw only a couple of tumbling flashes, then some hazy, smoky moments as he slipped in and out.

In the dream, he always heard Castiel calling, screaming names—his, the names of the children, cursing Cole in his own language.

At the time, Dean knew, he’d been unconscious through it all. But somehow, in the nightmare, he went through it with Castiel.

He felt Castiel’s burning skin as he dove into the flames, ripping apart twisted metal and unknowable debris to dig them out—dig them all out. He felt Castiel’s overwhelming sorrow as he pulled Dean from the wreckage, unmoving.

He tried to speak to him, every time he dreamed this—“It’s okay, mate, it’s all going to be fine…"—but he had no words.

A crying sound broke into Dean’s subconscious.

That was new… usually he’d wallow here in fear and fiery pain until he woke up, shaking, sweating, screaming—

“Dean!”

Castiel was shaking him.

Dean’s body slowly relaxed as he registered his surroundings, one by one. Castiel’s arms, around him. A warm, cozy comforter they’d been gifted by Bobby’s wife, Karen. Dim, pre-dawn light breaking through a crack in the curtains covering the bedroom window of their small, run-down house. The sound of crying.

“The same nightmare, again?” Castiel rumbled sleepily, his breath soft puffs on the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean nodded into the pillow, letting out a long breath. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Sometimes he thought that he recalled more of that day in his sleep than he ever did while awake.

He remembered Castiel’s glowing eyes as he took advantage of Cole’s powerless state to force him to stay in his human form, and then somehow—Dean was still smoke-choked and pain-dazed for that part—invaded Cole’s mind and forced him to take on a different human face… Dean’s. He recalled Castiel taking “Dean’s” body and shoving it deep into the flames of the twisted wreck of his precious car. Naomi remained where she’d fallen, split and crushed next to the front of the Impala—tell-tale sucker-marked bruising around her neck that forensics would later have no explanation for. He remembered Castiel dragging them all, four babies and a broken man, out toward the road. Taking Dean’s phone from his pocket and calling Charlie for help, not knowing what else to do.

“Dean.”

“Hmm?” Dean pulled out of his reverie at his husband’s words, rolling slightly.

“It’s your turn.”

“Nuh-uh, before dawn they’re your kids,” Dean grumbled down into the warm, inviting pillow, though he began to move his legs over to the edge of the mattress even as Castiel responded.

“I promised Ms. Moseley I’d be there early in the morning to help open the store,” Castiel said. “I’m going to have a long day.”

“Yeah, sure, a long day looking after flowers,” Dean teased as he stood up. “Probably licking them, knowing you. Meanwhile, I’ll be fixing cars with Bobby.”

“Flowers and four children, Dean. Four. Technically, in this State, I’d need a license to watch that many under two, if they weren’t ours.”

Dean found enough energy to throw a pillow at Castiel before he stepped out into the narrow hallway that led down to the nursery.

All teasing aside, Dean and Castiel tended to split their duties with the little ones pretty evenly. Castiel took them with him to his part-time job at Ms. Moseley’s florists every day. It was a good bit of human socialization for him that Karen had helped hook him up with. Bobby had told Dean that he could help out at the salvage yard until he found something else, but well over a year later, and Dean was still working there—often more than Bobby did. Not that he’d tell Bobby to his face how much he enjoyed it, of course.

Life was peaceful. Dean’s apparent death in the helicopter-slash-car accident, proved by Cole’s conveniently Dean-presenting body, had made his life as ‘Michael Smith’ much easier. Sam, Gabriel, and Jack visited frequently, and Charlie popped up now and again to surprise them. He could walk the streets safely, and he had Castiel and his little tentacled family.

He was lucky.

The sounds of crying grew louder as Dean puttered into the nursery, already humming. He and Castiel always bickered and joked about getting up in the night, but neither of them really minded. The nursery was decorated in muted shades of grey, with hand-painted stars and comets trailing across the walls. It had taken Dean and Castiel several late evenings to finish, but they were proud of it. The rest of the house would still take a lot more work, but they did it together, as the kids allowed.

“Hey, Astra,” Dean murmured, moving over to one of the two cribs that dominated the small nursery. They’d tried putting each of the children in their own bed several times before, and quickly found that these four liked to be together. Dean stretched his arms down, pulling the chubby sixteen-month-old up into his arms. “What’s all this noise, huh? You’ll be waking your sisters and brother up.”

With tears tumbling from her blue eyes down her pink, quivering cheeks, the blond baby girl merely sniffled and buried her face into Dean’s chest. He shushed her gently as he walked over to the rocking chair in the corner, rubbing her back as he lowered himself into it.

Naming the babies had been the easy part. Deciding that they wanted to give all four of them space-inspired names had been a no brainer, and Astra, Sola, and Celeste for the girls had come to them pretty quickly. Their boy had proved harder, but once the name came, it was obvious: Mars. The more difficult part, Dean had discovered, had been helping the little ones learn to hold human forms, so that they could go outside. For the first year of their lives, Castiel had been forced to spend every minute at home with them, afraid that they’d lose focus and let a tentacle phase into sight in the register line at a CVS on a quiet Thursday afternoon.

By the time a couple more months had passed, they’d got the hang of it. It was amusing to Dean where they’d chosen their human projections from—all of them resembled people pulled from his or Castiel’s memories, just as Castiel himself did.

Astra was a blond, blue-eyed cherub, and—although they’d both sworn never to mention it to Gabriel—Dean and Sam were both pretty sure that she was the spitting image of a girl Sam had dated in college. Sola had inquisitive green eyes and tiny brown curls, and Dean had laughed for ten minutes straight when he realized she looked like the baby from the side of the formula can. Celeste, to both Dean and Castiel’s delight, had chosen to become a tiny red headed twin of her namesake, her Auntie Charlie. Mars, on the other hand, Dean was pretty convinced would grow into a spitting image of his Daddy Castiel, and would break every heart in the State with those blue eyes.

They were all amazing to Dean, no matter what form they took.

He rocked back and forth gently as Astra softly curled one hand and three tentacles around his arm, resting on his chest in front of her.

“Feeling better, baby girl?” Dean asked softly.

“O-o-orsbi, ba-ba-bah,” Astra replied past the drooly fingers in her mouth, managing one Enochian word—that thankfully Dean recognized—before drifting into human baby babble.

“Drink, huh?” Dean grinned. “Lucky for you, that word I know. Come on, lets go get you some milk and get you back to bed.”

Jiggling her gently in his arms, Dean quickly peeked in on the other peacefully sleeping babies before he moved out of the star-covered room, on down to the kitchen.

Castiel had been nagging Dean recently to give the little ones less milk now that they were older, but it had long been established that when it came to the kids, Dean was the pushover. He spoiled them rotten—though Castiel certainly did too, in his own way.

After laying Astra back down and soothing her to sleep with gentle lullabies, Dean headed back to the master bedroom to slip back into bed next to Castiel. It was still before dawn, but they’d both have to be awake soon enough.

He slid beneath the covers, tangling his chilled limbs around Castiel and pressing himself up against the alien’s warm, deliciously naked body. Getting Castiel out of his trench coat and dress shirt had been a process, but the alien’s recent habit of sleeping in nothing was certainly a phase Dean was down for.

Castiel gave a hrumph of displeasure.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean teased into the side of his neck. “That’s the noise a guy wants to hear from his husband when he gets close.”

“You’re cold,” Castiel grumbled against the side of Dean’s face, tilting his head to the side to give Dean better access under his jaw despite his protestations.

“Well you could warm me up…” Dean grinned against Castiel’s warm, musky skin as he buried his nose behind the alien’s ear, dragging his lips across the sensitive spot of skin that he was well aware Castiel had there.

Castiel let out a quiet, throaty hum of pleasure. The soft sound was the only warning that Dean had before Castiel pushed back against him, seeking Dean’s mouth with his own and rolling above him, pinning Dean down into the pillows. He kissed him hard, forcefully even, until Dean was out of breath.

“Keen, suddenly,” Dean commented, grinning up at Castiel.

“You disturbed me when I was warm and cozy, mate.” Castiel pinned Dean down into the mattress with his hips, entirely shameless. “Don’t tease me before coffee, you should know better. You’re wearing far too much clothing.”

Dean considered Castiel’s new fondness for sleep to be one of the bigger perks of his slow acclimatization to Earth; morning sex wasn’t quite the same if one of them hadn’t actually slept.

“Oh, really?”’ Dean said innocently, pushing deliberately.

“Take them off,” Castiel growled, lowering one hand from the pillows to tug at Dean’s plaid pajama bottoms.

Grinning darkly, Dean slid his hand slowly up Castiel’s bare side, eased it across his chest, and trailed it up his neck to his face. Gripping at the alien’s chin, Dean couldn’t resist rubbing the pad of his thumb across the permanent three-day stubble that always graced it, enjoying the roughness. He tilted Castiel’s face upwards and led his gaze to lock very deliberately on Castiel’s darkened blue eyes.

“Make me.”

Castiel pulled back for a moment, and Dean thought that perhaps he’d pushed his luck too far, that he—

Dean’s train of thought went rather spectacularly off the rails as Castiel leaned back, settling to the left of Dean’s legs and yanking the pants down with such force that the stitches gave out protesting screams.

“sh*t,” Dean breathed out against the swell of his own bicep, his arms rising automatically above his head to grip at the top of the sturdy, wooden headboard. He knew he was going to get exactly what he wanted, but in exactly the way Castiel wanted him to have it; that was always Dean’s favorite way.

Sometimes, it was far too easy to forget that Castiel wasn’t human now that he’d been on Earth so long. He’d done such a good job of fitting in, of adapting. But as he discarded Dean’s pajamas over the edge of the bed and returned immediately, his hot mouth and human teeth feeling sharp and searing against the flesh inside Dean’s thigh, Castiel seemed wild and powerful in a way that a human partner never could.

“Dean,” Castiel growled up the inside of his leg, biting his way from Dean’s knee up the soft skin to his groin. He nuzzled the side of Dean’s already half-hard co*ck, kissing up it from base to tip as it jerked and juddered its way to full attention.

Dean felt his breath hitching in his throat as Castiel’s skilled tongue began to work him over. He was just settling into the feeling, pleasure beginning to hum in his core as his co*ck swelled to fill the alien’s mouth, when Dean felt two sliding, firm appendages loop around his ankles.

They didn’t always do this—Dean was practically addicted to the feel of his husband’s velvety tentacles sliding over his skin, but he knew it wasn’t particularly arousing to Castiel to have them out during sex. They were just like legs or arms to Cas, Dean supposed. But sometimes, Castiel brought them into play anyway, just for Dean.

He used them like ropes, pulling Dean’s ankles apart until he was splayed on the bed, held down, stretching across the mattress.

Dean gave out a small whimper, and it only served to spur Castiel on further. Castiel’s skin had healed much in the past year and a half. The silvery lines of scarring that covered his tentacles were part of him now, shining against the darker skin in the early morning sunrise that had begun to peek around the edges of the curtains. Dean still thought Castiel's tentacles were beautiful, scarred or not. Another of them slid along the sheet covering the mattress, already oozing with clear lubrication as it tapped its interest around Dean’s asshole with its tip.

“f*ck, yes,” Dean responded to the silent question, raising his hips just slightly to give Castiel better access.

A helpful tentacle grasped Castiel’s abandoned pillow and dragged it down the bed, tucking it under Dean’s butt to help position him. The damp, probing tentacle that teased around Dean’s hole pushed further between his cheeks, and he moaned lowly into the pillow.

Castiel swallowed Dean down smoothly. His co*ck slid down the back of the alien’s hot tongue and into his throat, soaked with enough saliva to dribble from the edges of Castiel’s mouth as he bobbed downwards. It was hard and fast and sloppy, and Dean gripped onto the headboard for dear life, loving every second.

The tentacle invading his ass give a firm rub across his prostate, and Dean almost vibrated out of his skin.

“Ahhhh—f*ck, yes—right there—”

Wasting no time, the tentacle gave an excited wiggle, flicking back and forth across the bundle of nerves at a torturous pace.

Castiel’s eyes were unerring, fixed on Dean’s face as he nailed him with the tentacle. The alien drew himself back, pushing the head of Dean’s co*ck into the side of his mouth so that his cheek bulged out obscenely. Dean groaned at the sight, reaching down with one hand to press a thumb to Castiel’s face, feeling the pressure against the tip of his co*ck.

Dean was allowed to stroke at himself through Castiel’s cheek for only a moment, before another tentacle appeared to pull his hand back, swiftly tying his wrist up to the headboard without Castiel’s expression so much as changing.

f*ck, that’s hot.

His prostate was lighting fireworks in the base of his abdomen, and Dean opened his mouth to beg Castiel to slow down, or he was gonna—

He didn’t even get to finish thinking it; a fourth tentacle winding around Dean’s neck and up into his mouth, f*cking against his tongue in beautiful, staccato tandem with all of the others.

Dean was utterly helpless.

Tears pricked his eyes at the force of the sensation, held immobile with every hole filled.

He tried to gargle out a warning around Castiel’s tentacle, to tell him that he was about to come, but he couldn’t. The alien almost certainly got the message though, as Dean’s hips jerked up, sharp and involuntary, the pyrotechnics in his abdomen resulting in a gagged, held back scream as he pumped down Castiel’s waiting throat.

Dean shuddered, his head pressing back into his pillow as he released. He could feel sweat trickling down his back, gathering behind his neck and making the back of his knees itch. Slowly, the tentacle slid out from Dean’s mouth, replaced—briefly—by Castiel’s lips.

The alien gave Dean a coy smile before crawling up over him, straddling his chest.

Castiel was nowhere near done with him.

The tentacles reaffirmed their grip around Dean’s wrists, hauling him up against the headboard. The butt-pillow was tucked behind his back, propping him comfortably. Castiel took a moment to lean down, caressing the side of Dean’s face and catching his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

Dean merely nodded, giving a content, f*cked-out sigh. Castiel settled back onto his thighs, one either side of Dean’s rib-cage, and Dean gave a helplessly-interested moan as he eyed Castiel’s bobbing, red co*ck suspended above his chest.

Assured that Dean was fine, Castiel slid one hand up Dean’s face, spreading his fingers slowly across Dean’s cheek. He tilted his head back against the headboard. Castiel’s eyes devoured Dean hungrily as the tentacles that had been restraining his ankles released, and came up to hold Dean’s head in place, tugging his mouth open.

Eyes wide, Dean panted as he realized what Castiel was doing. His co*ck gave a hopeful, but futile, twitch.

As if he could sense Dean’s arousal, Castiel gave him a dark grin before he directed his flushed, full co*ck to Dean’s mouth. Guiding it between Dean’s lips with one hand, Castiel’s other hand reached to grasp the headboard, his hands over Dean’s.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel gasped out as he slid back into his throat. “Your mouth feels amazing…”

Castiel’s voice dipped lower, like gravel rocks rolling along a riverbed, and Dean couldn’t help but hum with pleasure around him.

Castiel cried out at the sensation as Dean’s throat vibrated around his co*ck, and began to f*ck into him in earnest, taking what he’d set them both up for.

Dean gagged, and gargled, and choked; he loved the sounds, loved the feel of it—loved that Castiel knew that, pounding into the tunnel of his throat without second guessing, each of their bodies as much home to the other now as their own. Dean loved not being able to move his arms under the hold of the tentacles, twisting against them only so that Castiel would tighten his grip more. He adored the way Castiel’s suckers caressed his skin, the tentacle that had pistoned into his ass now leaving red, sucker kisses between the freckle-patterns of his chest.

“Ahh—Ahhh—” Castiel’s moans rose to a crescendo as he face-f*cked Dean back into the wood.

sh*t, f*ck, yes—Dean could barely breathe, his lips tingling as they were stretched wide by tentacles and co*ck alike. His tongue burned with friction, his throat was numb, a tear escaped down his cheek… and he groaned, deep in his chest, adoring it all.

“AHHH!” Castiel’s last cry released a flood of heat, and damp, and salt across Dean’s tongue.

Castiel’s alien tentacles and human thighs both trembled in time as he slumped back down to laying atop Dean, releasing him one tentacle at a time.

“Well,” he panted, close to Dean’s ear. “You did… tell me… to make you.”

They both made it to work on time, but barely.

It was worth it.

Like everything else that they’d been through… totally worth it.