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Dean with the pretty blonde beerhouse waitress. Her delicate hands roam all over his new-smooth, flawless skin and ghost over the burned hand print. Water flows down their bodies. The warmth of her breath, the slick tightness of her pussy, the little noises she makes deep inside her throat. Lust sings under Dean's skin and for a moment it drowns out the echoes of the roaring fires of Hell. All washed down, he's alive again. He's out, he's free and for a fleeting moment he can almost believe it.
Dean in some dirty back alley, bright, green eyes now misty with lust and whiskey, coating his thick cock with spit. Dean fucking hard some guy whose name he doesn't remember. Doesn't care to remember. He grips the man's hair to draw his head back, to sink his teeth in the unmarked throat. The guy is big and in the dark he looks enough like Sam. His brilliant, infuriating little brother he's sworn to protect from everything, including himself. Sammy, who is now dealing with demons, who he now sometimes hates to love, but loves, anyway. His brother -which says it all for Dean, in the end.
They come and go; lots of women, the occasional man. Refuges, distractions and substitutes. Invisible and silent, Castiel watches. He sees them all, but he sees only Dean. Stunning, flawed, doomed Dean. He watches, unblinking, not breathing, shutting out Jimmy Novak who sometimes still struggles inside him. Castiel watches Dean and he wonders if this is how falling feels like.