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Life was pain.
Castiel knew that, intellectually, for a long time now. In his opinion, it made humans beautiful. Dean always insisted that life was pain and it made humanity ugly and desperate, but to Castiel, Dean was always beautiful anyway.
But then Castiel got tricked by Metatron. His grace got ripped out, and he fell to Earth in a fiery descent.
Now that he was human himself, he could truly appreciate the fact that life, indeed, was pain.
Several years ago, when he almost fell, he slept and ate but he was still an angel and it didn't hurt nearly as much as it did now. Now, there was this constant, sucking pain that encompassed him whole. It wasn't his body hurting, it was his soul. He had a soul now and it longed for his missing grace constantly. And try as he might've, he was still getting used to it.
There was one thing Metatron would never rip out of him -- his memory. He remembered the rush of wind under his wings still, a phantom feeling that would never go away. He would always remember the good things, too. The way Dean's soul trembled with relief upon being raised from Hell, or how his new, flawless body felt when he was rebuilding it atom by atom.
All his knowledge remained intact as well.
Castiel tried to explain to Sam and Dean how elves worked, how they got into your head and made you weak and awestruck. How they enchanted your will and drained your resolve. How you cowered at their glamoured sight. How they loved to play these games until you begged for death. But it was in that moment the elves really started to have fun.
The Winchesters remained ignorant, drawing upon their previous experiences with fairies.
It was a mistake.
Elves didn't really know pain, except when iron was involved.
Castiel's will began to falter faster than he anticipated, and despite all his training, all his muscle memory, all his determination, he dropped to one knee in front of the first elf he encountered.
His limbs were heavy when he attempted a backhanded strike to the pointy-eared bastard's solar plexus. It struck true, but the Angel blade was not iron, a fact he was too late to remember.
The elf, ugly and wretched thing beneath the glamour, let out a laugh that sounded like silver bells. It grated on Castiel, making his teeth ache, and his hand, still holding his blade, drop to his side.
He clutched his head, trying to will the enchantment away.
The last thing he saw before losing consciousness were the elf's incandescent eyes dimming, and his lifeless body dropping to the floor.
Sam trotted away to file information on elves into the Men of Letters archives. He rambled on about how this was important and how there was no mention of elves in the library.
Dean was not happy. He was being restless and abrupt with his gestures, monosyllabic when Castiel tried to engage him in conversation. He stormed off to the kitchen the moment they arrived back at the Bunker and left Cas in the library. But every now and then he was popping in, looking.
Castiel loved it when Dean looked at him, all soft-eyed, with emotions tugging at the corners of his lips. He preferred the good emotions, the ones that made Dean's lips twitch up. He remembered the sight of his soul shining through, flickering with joy and contentment. Fear and sorrow looked beautiful on Dean as well. His mouth tugged down and the skin around his eyes tightened. His soul shone green then.
But now, Castiel couldn't read Dean's soul like he used to. He had to rely on his subtle expressions and tone of voice.
So Castiel got surprised when his arm was gripped tightly and he was turned around on the spot, his beer bottle nearly sliding out of his hands.
It was Dean, pulling him close.
"If I hadn't been there today, you would end up dead," Dean said. He was scared. Cas could almost see the green of his soul in his eyes.
"But I didn't. You were there," Castiel said, putting the bottle down on the kitchen counter. "I thought you didn't listen when I told you about the elves."
"I always listen," Dean said and closed his eyes. He was so close Cas saw the tension on his face make his jaw clench repeatedly. "You need hand-to-hand combat training. Joking about Angel blade protection is all fine but when things go south-"
"When things go south, I can handle myself, Dean!" Cas was starting to get angry. He loved being doted on by Dean, but the hunter should know better than to think he was helpless. "I handled myself just fine before you showed up and swept me off my feet," he couldn't help but to make air quotes there.
Dean's fingers resembled a steel ring clenching around his bicep. Castiel glanced at the offending digits and then back at Dean. He found Dean was also gazing at him.
A small twist to the wrist, a little pressure on the right ligament and a tiny sigh was all it took to dislodge Dean's hand and push the man against the tiled kitchen wall, helpless and wide eyed.
"Just because I'm human now, doesn't mean I can't fight," Castiel said, leaning in close. Dean always complained about how he didn't respect personal space, but Cas always found it was easier to intimidate people this way when he needed it.
And right now, Castiel really did want to intimidate Dean.
"You lost faith in me, Dean."
"I just don't want you to get hurt."
"Do I look hurt?" Castiel asked. He wanted to stay angry, but he really couldn't. It was nice, being cared for and watched over, for a change.
Dean just shook his head, the tension in his muscles decreasing.
It was hard to ignore the constant pain of being human, and it was hard to submit to his body's stupid demands, and it was hard altogether.
Life sucked.
But kissing Dean was easy.
It was easy to look at him and see his eyes only shining with the reflected light of harsh neon lighting. It was easy to lean against him, feeling his heart flutter against his ribcage. It was easy to brush his lips against Dean's and feeling them tighten, not in rejection but in acceptance.
It was the easiest thing Castiel ever did, in all his eons of life. All he had to do was just react to Dean's sight and smell and the feeling of his skin under his own hands.
Castiel felt Dean lean into the kiss, deepening it and nibbling at his bottom lip lightly, asking for entrance, which he granted. Their tongues met and Cas could swear he saw sparks behind his eyelids. It felt like coming home.
He stopped thinking altogether.
He let go of Dean's wrists, slid his hands over his forearms to cup the hunter's jaw. Tiny, sharp hair prickled Castiel's fingertips and scraped his tongue when he licked up over Dean's Adam's apple and chin. So concentrated he was on the rough feeling, he almost didn't notice Dean's hands moving along his spine in long, slow strokes.
"Cas, what-" Dean attempted to say something, but Cas shut him up with another kiss.
Sex was awesome. Castiel already knew that. Watching it was boring but performing the act was something much, much better. But he would never suspect even kissing could be this good, when it was done with someone you loved.
He wasn't sure when all the sweet kissing struck the spark of desire in him. Maybe it was when Dean whispered his name when Cas nibbled on his earlobe. Or maybe it was Dean moaning when he squeezed Castiel's ass. Or maybe it was the sound Castiel's teeth made while raking over the stubble on Dean's jaw.
There was desperation in the way they tugged at each other's clothing. Cas was pretty sure Sam will find a button or two in his morning cereal. Dean's eyes were glazed over now, pupils blown so wide only a ribbon of colour was visible. Cas could hear his own ragged breaths escaping him between placing open mouthed kisses along Dean's shoulder and collarbone. He remembered forming these bones with his own hands and it filled him with pride.
He remembered he once compared humans to works of art. Dean hated it.
"Shut up, Dean," Castiel said between sighs.
"I didn't say a thing," Dean replied, pulling on the zipper in Castiel's trousers.
Dean's palm was hot and rough, but oh, so perfect around his cock. He pushed eagerly into the touch, tension building in the base of his spine, demanding more. He heard Dean's whispers in his ears, pleas to let go, and soft, low groans.
Then it was all flashes of scents and tastes and images.
Dean leaning back against the wall with his legs around Castiel's hips, his head tilted up, exposing his neck. Castiel could see his jugular jumping beneath the skin in a fast, thready rhythm. Tiny lines around his eyes were less pronounced now, his lips shining and swollen from kisses.
Something slick and warm spreading over Castiel's cock. He had no idea what it was and where it came from, but between his laboured breaths and Dean's eager hands guiding him in, he really didn't care. Not when Dean felt so hot and tight around him, whispering "I trust you," when his lips weren't busy sucking bruises into Castiel's shoulder.
The hollow between Dean's neck and shoulder tasted like sunburn. Dean's skin was flushed pink. The colour spread over his cheeks and neck, over his chest and shoulders. His breath sweeping over Castiel's face and hair was hot and smelled vaguely of hops.
The rhythm of their joined bodies was steady and sweet. Their sighs and muffled moans filled the kitchen, almost drowning out the rustling of skin against skin. Dean was wearing a wide-eyed, soft-mouthed, somewhat surprised look that came from being fucked, and Castiel decided it was his new favourite Dean-face.
Dean's eyes were rolling up under his fluttering eyelids, his legs and arms around Castiel tightening when he came, letting out a surprisingly loud moan. The feeling of hot wetness spreading between them was what pushed Castiel over the edge, tattooing supernovas on his retinas and curling his toes.
It was easy, collapsing on the cold kitchen floor then, laughing as Dean tried to mask their indiscretion by singing on the top of his lungs. It was easy, kissing Led Zeppelin's lyrics off his lips.
And the easiest thing was looking at Dean's content, relaxed face, admiring his still wide eyes and wide smile and knowing that it probably wasn't the last time this happened.
Loud, long, and rather high-pitched moan could be heard from behind the kitchen door.
Sam smiled.
A fraction of a second later, somewhat off-key voice started singing.
"WE COME FROM THE LAND OF THE ICE AND SNOW, FROM THE MIDNIGHT SUN WHERE THE HOT SPRINGS BLOOOOOOW!"
Sam just sighed and shook his head. Orgasmic-moan-into-song tactic haven't worked since he was fourteen, and Dean really didn't need to cover it up. Everyone knew about him and Cas anyway. In all honesty, Sam was surprised it took them this long to finally realise it.