"Are you friggin' kidding me?" Dean growled as debris rained over his head. "Elves? Elves?"
He didn't really expect Sam to answer as they took cover in the kitchen, but his brother gave him a shrug anyway that clearly said 'What do you expect me to do?' Dean huffed, flinching as another volley of candy exploded over his head, demolishing a chunk of the gingerbread wall.
It had seemed like a regular hunt to begin with. They'd spotted some news reports about local kids going missing in a town only a couple of hours' drive away from the bunker, and done the usual kitting up and heading out, not thinking much of it. But the kids had lead to a honest-to-God gingerbread house smack in the middle of some creepy-ass woods, and inside that house had been some creatures with a taste for human children.
And candy, apparently.
"I thought elves baked cookies and made shoes!" Dean demanded, more to himself as he tried to wipe the blood away from his lip. Apparently, that's not what elves did at all. After all; they'd found out that Hansel and Gretel were both real and homicidal not so long ago, it shouldn't really have been much of a shock to discover that elves popped up once a year at Christmas, not to help Santa and his sleigh, but to lure kids out of bed and then slit their throats and eat them.
Dean hated pretty much all supernatural things, but he had a special kind of smiting he saved for things that preyed on kids. These monsters were going to hell. Every single one of the tiny bastards.
"How many we got left?" Sam asked as they used their second of cover to clean their blades and take stock.
Dean risked looking back into the living room, and got his face almost sliced in half for his trouble. "Only three I think!" he yelled as rolled into the other room and grappled with the elf that had launched for his face. They were only a foot or so tall, but the little fuckers were fast and had razor sharp teeth, not to mention candy canes almost as big as they were that they wielded with a hell of a punch.
If Dean had forgotten this, he was soon reminded of this as one of the weaponised candies smashed right into his left knee, dislocating and twisting it sickeningly, making him bellow in rage and pain. Sammy was soon there, swiping the thing's head off with his serrated clever, splattering blood all over Dean's clothes and face.
"Urgh, dude?" he protested despite his pain, but Sam just rolled his eyes.
"You're welcome, jerk," he goaded with a raised eyebrow.
Dean grunted and tried to sit upright as his knee popped excruciatingly back into place, scouring the room for the last couple of creatures. "Bitch," he mumbled, but his heart wasn't really in it.
Not really being able to move and panting in pain, Dean was a sitting duck, but Sam stood by him, waiting for another elf to spring out and attack. A trembling of the sugar-spun plates on the walls and the hardened fudge floorboards gave them a heads up as the last two elves burst through the candy at them, sharp teeth flashing and squeaky snarls escaping their throats. Sam managed to cut down one of them, but the second got through both his and Dean's blade, and sunk it's teeth into the leather of Dean's jacket, ripping all the way through to his flesh.
He howled and threw the damn thing off, taking several strips of his arm with it as the fresh pain tore through his body. "Sam!" he managed to rasp, and before the thing could scrabble back to its feet, Sam slashed his knife down again, separating its head from its body and stopping it for good. The head bounced across the floor, the bell on its hat jangling as it did.
"Ungh!" Dean moaned, dropping onto his back and cradling his arm. Shit, some hunts you just did not have any luck.
Sam was hovering over him in seconds. "Let me see?" he demanded, and even though Dean held out the open wounds for him to take a quick look at, he was already shaking his head.
"It's fine," he protested. "I'll fix it up when we get back, I've had worse."
Sam bit his lip as he pulled off his army jacket and wrapped it tightly around the bleeding gashes. "You're pretty banged up," he said, trying not to sound argumentative but failing. "What with your leg and all. Can you even stand?"
"I've had worse," Dean just repeated again, grunting against the pain of Sam's coat and begging him not to say what he thought he was going to say.
But Sam, the dumb moose, never knew when to leave well enough alone. "If you don't want to go to the hospital, maybe we should call-"
"NO!" Dean shouted, probably louder than he meant to. "Just...no, okay?" He looked around the room and sighed. "Look, just...go see if we got them all, then we can burn this place down and get the hell out of here." All he wanted now was a hot shower and some whiskey and his bed. He would deal with the pain in the morning.
Sam pressed his lips together but didn't argue, and instead did as his big brother said and started inspecting the trashed candy house that was somehow still standing, making sure they'd got every one of those evil things.
Half an hour later, Sam was propping Dean up as they watched the place burn, making sure the whole forest didn't catch light, and ready with their blades in case any of the elves came tearing out with their asses on fire.
Dean had no problem for once letting Sam drive. There was no way he could work the pedals or hold the wheel the state he was in, so he just chucked him the keys, ignored the responding raised eyebrow, and slung himself into the passenger seat with the intention of passing out as soon as possible.
It was hard, trying to sleep though with his raw arm and throbbing knee, but no matter what Sam said he would not let himself consider who could heal it with just a simple touch.
He didn't deserve that.
It didn't stop him thinking about Cas though. He was hurting and he couldn't deny himself that at least, the luxury for his mind to wander over all the ways Dean had screwed him over and most definitely did not deserve any sympathy. Any touches.
It didn't stop him missing his friend either, missing his dumb comments and running commentary on whatever Netflix show he was barrelling through at that time. Missing the way he gave Dean that crooked smile, or how his blue eyes sometimes lit up, just for him. The way he sometimes forgot just how powerful the angel was, and would be awed by his strength and his fury.
But Cas had been pretty scarce the last couple of weeks, and Dean refused to call on him, for whatever reason. So what his arm was bleeding through Sam's coat, or that he couldn't walk by himself? He'd get over it, he'd drum up some fake insurance and go to the hospital if things got really bad.
He would not ask this of Cas.
When they arrived back at the bunker Sam helped him through the door, down the stairs and even into his room. "You need help, um...?" Sam asked.
"Nah man," Dean assured him quickly. "It's fine, I can manage from here." He was pretty certain Sam didn't believe him, but thankfully, he left him to it anyway.
First, Dean rummaged through his drawers until he found the strongest pain-killers he could, and whacked twice the recommended dosage down with a shot of Jack. Then, he drank half the Jack Daniels, which had been almost a full bottle to start with, and slowly peeled his grim clothing off, tossing it into a pile that he would decide later whether or not to wash or just burn. Finally, he managed to hop and stumble into a scalding hot shower, cleaning his skin of sweat and blood, and inspecting the stinging slashes in his arms.
They weren't all that deep, so when he fumbled his way out again, he just taped them shut rather than resorting to stitches, and wrapped them back in fresh bandages. Sam had obviously snuck back in and left him a bag of peas, so rather the protest (he really didn't have the energy) he slapped that on his aching knee and laid back on his bed, shutting his eyes and making short work of the rest of the Jack.
After well over a decade of hunting, Dean knew any mission you came back from was a win. But he didn't feel much like a winner as he slipped further into his drunken stupor, grumbling to himself and wishing he'd thought to put a record on before he'd plastered himself to the mattress.
In the quiet that only broke with the swish of the amber liquid as he lifted his bottle, Dean struggled again not to think of his Angel of the Lord, wishing he hadn't let the Mark overcome him like it had, that he hadn't beaten one of the people he loved most in the whole word into a pulp, that things were like normal and Cas was just here, just healing him before Dean's dumb ass had a chance to protest. He just wished-
"Dean?"
He jerked in shock, eyes not having a chance to open as he wrenched his knee again and screwed up his whole face in agony, rolling into the bed as he gripped it and gasped.
"Dean?" the hesitant voice asked again. "You are injured."
Dean growled and managed to suck a couple of breaths in, enough that he could stop seeing stars behind his lids, and open his eyes to glare at the man perched on the edge of his bed. "God damn it Cas," he snarled. "You can't just, you can't – what are you doing here?"
"You prayed to me," he replied, as if this was obvious. He looked the same as ever; blue eyes and tie, dark and rumpled hair, even more rumpled tan trench coat.
"The hell I did," Dean grunted, trying to work out if he'd damaged his knee even further, torn a ligament perhaps? There was certainly blood seeping through the dressing on his arm. "I didn't say one word," he carried on stubbornly. "So you don't just appear in my room unannounced. A guy could be doing all kinds of things in private."
He had to admit, he was in absolutely no state to even think about jerking one off right now, but it was the principle of the matter.
Cas though ignored his jab, even if he'd understood it. "I heard your wishing," he said calmly, his voice low and gravely with concern. "And I can see why. Please, let me heal you."
"No!" Dean snapped, almost as fervently as he did with Sam. At least this time he didn't recoil and cause himself any more harm. "No, you don't...you don't need to do that man, I'm fine."
Cas scowled, and Dean caught a glimpse of that powerful energy he was so drawn to. "When are you going to stop being so stubborn?" he asked. "I know you think you deserve to be punished for the way in which you acted under the influence of the Mark of Cain, but I assure you it is not necessary."
"No offense," Dean scoffed, and took another slug of whisky. "But I think I'll be the judge of that."
Castiel stared at him intently, and Dean took another swallow just for something to distract him. "Even if by hurting yourself," Cas said after a while. "You are also hurting me further?"
Dean closed his eyes. What was he supposed to say to that? "I don't deserve one of your miracles," he insisted mulishly, putting the empty bottle down. "I don't get to use you as my own private patch-up service every time I get my ass handed to me. No other hunters get that."
"But," said Cas, shifted his weight in agitation. "It's what I want, I want to soothe your pain. You are important to me Dean, and your suffering causes me to suffer right alongside you."
Dean wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. The whole point was he didn't want to hurt Cas anymore, that he'd done that enough in his stupid fucking life, he hurt everyone around him, got everyone killed, and he just couldn't risk putting that on anyone else anymore.
But Cas' hand gently touched his good arm, and Dean couldn't help but open his wet eyes and look back at him.
"Please?" he asked, his voice small.
So Dean gave in, and nodded sadly, screwing up his eyes in defeat and letting the tears fall down his cheeks. He was such a mess.
Castiel's fingertips were feather-light as he placed them against Dean's forehead and extended his grace, slipping his influence over Dean's battered body and re-arranging the universe. Just for him.
The injuries left his body along with the alcohol, and the shock of a sudden lack of pain along with an unnatural sobriety made him jerk in reaction to his new found state. But the tears didn't falter, and soon he was crying even harder, like a God damn baby as he let his guilt and shame come pouring out.
He felt Cas move closer to him, drawing him into his arms, letting him shake. "Please stop hurting yourself," he said softly. "There are so many other things out in the world trying to do that already. You don't need to make it worse Dean."
A shiver ran down his spine at the use of his name, and Dean unabashedly pulled Cas closer, loving the familiar, faintly smoky smell that wafted from his skin and his clothes. Nothing smelt like Cas.
Neither of them made the move to break the embrace, even though Dean knew he should. He wiped the tears that hadn't been caught by Cas' coat with the hand he was able to sneak between them, and after a while he managed to get a hold of himself. "Cas I'm so sorry," he said, his voice trembling but not breaking.
"I know," he told him into his hair. The hair he was stroking. Dean realised with a jolt that he was rubbing his back too, and all he was wearing was his boxers. Nothing else.
Slowly, he pulled back, looking down at himself, then looking up as Cas next to him. Cas' hand slipped from his hair to cradle his face gently, and they just stared into each others' eyes.
Dean felt vulnerable, but somehow that was also comforting at the same time. Cas had ripped him from Hell, and given up Heaven for him. He knew everything there was about Dean Winchester, so there was no sense in trying to put walls up just because he'd got most of his clothes off. And honestly, it felt like such a relief to just be. To sit in front of Cas and stop pretending that he could deal with everything and that it was all going to be okay.
Cas was looking at him with such fondness it was a little breath-taking. His other hand had moved around and was resting on Dean's shoulder, just above his tattoo, their skin burning where it touched. It was a pleasant burn though, and Dean allowed it to calm him further.
"Thank you for letting me tend to you," Castiel said, his blue eyes sweeping earnestly over Dean's face. "I hope you'll begin to see again that this is what I want, that it's okay."
"What exactly do you want?" Dean asked, his voice coming out as soft as breath. He felt like he was floating, not anxious about Castiel's intentions, but wanting to understand what he meant.
Cas considered his words before he spoke. "I want your comfort," he said, nodding. "I want your happiness. It..." he faltered and glanced down towards Dean's mouth, sending fresh shivers down his spine. "It means a great deal to me."
Dean nodded, understanding, but still not entirely accepting that's what he deserved. "I want to do right by you too man," he said around the lump in his throat, willing the tears threatening to spill to stay put behind his eyes. "I feel like I fuck that up quite a lot though."
Cas smiled in amusement. "I think the universe is very hard on you Winchesters," he said kindly. "But you, Dean, are especially reluctant to admit that. I'd like, if I may," he asked shyly. "To keep helping you with this. I wish you to see how good you are, despite it all."
Dean swallowed thickly. Cas' words were so hard to hear, but he was ashamed to admit he craved what he was offering. After so much hardship, he wanted comfort and contentment. "You think you can help me be happy?" he asked, unable to keep the hope from his voice.
"I'd like to try," Cas told him.
"How?"
"Perhaps," Cas said, inching them a little closer together. "I could start by trying this?"
Dean wasn't even sure he registered his eyes closing. But the next thing he knew, warm, soft lips were pressed to his in a chaste kiss, and Cas' large, firm hands were winding their way over his back again, until they were flush together, Dean cradled in his Angel's arms.
He wasn't sure how long he'd wanted this, been scared of it to the point he refused to even fully admit to himself this is what he'd been after, but as soon as their mouths met, he knew there would never, ever be any going back. He wanted Cas so badly, it was startling. But for all his talk of punishment, he was too selfish to deny them both this even if he'd not done enough to deserve it.
"Is this what you want?" Dean murmured, withdrawing only far enough so his words could be heard.
"Desperately," Cas replied, stroking his skin, breathing gently against his lips. "I want to save you from yourself Dean Winchester, I always have. And with a human vessel, I can do that in more ways than one."
It had been a long time since Dean had been held by another man, but even then no man could compare to the mighty Castiel. Tranquillity flowed through him like a balm, and he allowed himself to be lowered down onto the bed and under the covers, Cas' hands never letting him go, not ever for a moment.
Somehow, Cas' clothes were now gone as well, only his underwear remaining as they snuggled skin to skin, wrapped in the comforter and each others' limbs. Dean hoped, in the very near future, they could do this again with a little more enthusiasm. He wanted to touch every inch of Cas' skin, with his fingers and his lips equally. He wanted to taste him and hear the noises he made, he wanted it all.
But for now, he let his body be healed even further by the solid, warm presence he felt all around him, let himself be rocked to sleep. His last thought before his slipped into the darkness, was that tomorrow might be better.
And that was all he could really hope for.
The End
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