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shallowstories · 1 year

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Help me come unglued

From January 2023; Very self-indulgent Dean/Cas New Years' fic; reposted because it's not SO long. I wrote this when I was down hard with COVID. I couldn't sleep at all.

///

Dean feels somethin' prickly. It's that creepy itch you get when you just know a yucky spider's skittering over your skin. It’s weird enough that he slaps an open palm to the back of his neck, just in case.

Dean can hear Sam hollering like an animal just outside the door, so he must be nearly done now. (Dean thanks the stars that security was on the chopping block for this section of downtown. Yeesh.)

"All clear!"

Boom. Hasta la vista, Sapphire Chalice of Charlotte.

And hello...Cas?

It’s not really a kiss so much as it the unexpected feeling of being completely smothered by Cas’s lips. He forgets to be shocked or embarrassed.

It’s so clumsy and sudden that Dean's instinct is to be charmed by it. He feels the frown and pinch of his brow give way to a funny little smile, and he's inching his fingers forward to tap at Cas’s shoulder like:

Ease off. I’m fine.

We’re fine.

But Cas’s eyes are too wide, like he’s terrified, and it's like an alarm bell clanging in Dean's mind.

They hadn’t been in real danger here, had they? It was just some crusty old museum artifact and the barest wisp of a ghost. And Sam's already killed the thing.

Dean tries to lean back to talk to him, but Cas shoves forward against him, texture of his lips scraping harder against his own. It's rough. Dean moans, low and confused, and color blooms across his nose.

Crap.

He hadn't meant it to sound like that, and oh, it kind of hurts.

Cas, he tries to say. Cut it out. That hurts.

Dean huffs air out through his nose.

Damn. This ain't even sexy.

Impossibly, it gets even less sexy the moment Sam comes lumbering through the open door.

And that’s about when Dean realizes this ain’t some bleeding-heart expression of battle-heated relief on Cas's part. In fact, Cas plants both of his hands firmly on Dean’s shoulders and gives a hard little shove.

The force is effective enough to send Dean stumbling. But where Dean goes, Cas goes, like he's being pulled by an invisible magnet. All it does it send them crashing into a table mid-liplock.

Dean bangs his hip hard enough to bruise, and there's a clatter as a stack of book goes thudding to the floor. There's a little ashtray full of marbles and they go skittering, too.

Now's about the time Dean would usually have something cheeky to say. Something-something losing your marbles.

“Oh. Oh! Whoa.” Sam goes pinker than a lobster, puts his ginormous paws in front of his face, and spins around to put his back to them. “Fuck. S-sorry! I didn't know you--”

Cas bristles and tries to talk against Dean’s lips.

Dean thinks he’s trying to say, nurse and maybe...dumpling?

Sam uncovers his eyes, winces at the sight in front of him, and looks at the floor. “D-did you say curse? The artifact did something?”

Oh.

That makes more sense.

Cas tries a different tactic to separate them this time. Rather than pushing at Dean, he wraps his arms around his middle and lifts him slightly. It has the added effect of smooshing their lips a little harder against each other at first.

But then Cas is bracing against him, like he’s trying to physically wrench them apart. He starts pulling Dean away and pushing his own body back.

Horrifyingly, Dean feels Sam’s arms wind underneath his armpits and give an additional tug from behind.

Dammit.

But all the extra effort to unstick him from Cas seems to painfully suck their lips together even harder, like their spit is made of glue, and the force is rapidly hardening it to cement.

Dean fails to suppress a groan of pain, and Cas’s eyes fly open in panic. Cas shoves Sam back and pulls Dean forward. Sam starts chanting, "Okay. Okay, uh, I was just trying to help."

One of Cas's hands rises to prod gracefully at their joined lips. It feels apologetic, somehow, and Dean tries to relax. Slowly, the hardened rasp of their lips softens again, like putty in a microwave.

They’re not even really kissing so much as they are chastely pressed together, but it's still pretty embarrassing.

Sam mumbles to himself, “That hurt, right?"

Dean tries to nod, but the movement is restrained by the immovability of Cas's head.

“Crap. Crap!” Sam disappears out the door and returns a few seconds later with a box and a pile of ashes. “It’s gotta have something to do with me toasting this thing. Don’t worry, guys! I’ll figure this out.”

///

A short while later, Dean and Cas are piled into the backseat of the impala, shifted awkwardly towards the passenger side. They’d started out in the middle of the bench, but that hadn’t lasted long, because Sam kept accidentally glancing up to the rear view and gawking at them.

Asshole.

Now, they’re both sitting rigidly straight, with their bodies angled slightly away from one another. Their faces are still awkwardly pressed together at the lips.

Cas has tilted his face to the side so Dean can breath better via his nose, and of course, Cas himself is making a point not to breathe at all.

He seems to be listening intently to the conversation Sam and Rowena are having.

Dean scoffs to himself.

Never has there been a liplock so unsexy, so completely diplomatic.

Yet, Dean can’t seem to focus.

Whenever he opens his eyes, Cas is there, eyes bright blue and completely filling his field of vision. He almost can't see anything else. Not unless he cranes his eyes so far to the corners that his head starts to vibrate with migraine.

Dean tries not to think. If he does, he starts cataloging sensation. The texture of skin. The pores of Cas's cheeks from this close.

An indefinite amount of time goes by, during which Sam’s prattling to Rowena dies off.

Not a moment too soon, he chipperly announces that they’re ten minutes from the bunker. Then, he cranks up NPR like that will somehow ease this humiliating tension. It's a story about some politics or other.

And Dean is getting a damn crick in his neck.

The next story is the science section, and it cheerfully blasts, "Scientists Say Japanese Monkeys Are Having 'Sexual Interactions' With Deer!" Sam makes an inhuman sound as he rushes to squirrel the dial to literally anything else. He lands on Poker Face by Lady Gaga, and he cranks it up loud.

Dean feels Cas laugh against his lips, and he catches his eyes to find mirth there.

Yeah. Dean gets it. It's pretty funny that Sam's academic radio channel had embarrassed him worse than any sexy ballad could. He snorts and Cas gives him a look.

At least the shared joke has broken the tension.

Craning his neck like this has been awful. Easing up a little, Dean makes a disgruntled mmm noise against Cas’s lips and is momentarily stunned by the accidental vibrations that buzz through his (their?) skin because of it.

Cas’s mouth shapes the word Dean, which comes out “Dnn?”

Dean can feel the vertical ridges in his bottom lip.

He tries to shape “neck hurts” back.

Cas must understand some of it, because he turns more towards Dean now. He brings his hand up and cups it around the side of his face, completely supporting under the hinge of Dean’s jaw.

It’s weirdly comfortable.

The support feels a little like a cervical support collar. Cas’s index finger is pressing directly into one carotid and his thumb presses up into Dean’s other side. If it weren't Cas, it's the kind of pinch that would raise Dean's hackles, a grip positioned perfectly to crush his windpipe.

Instead, Dean sighs against him, letting his head sag forward and mouthing a “thanks” that smears their lips together so softly and pleasantly that Dean feels twin pulses throb in his neck.

He might be imagining things, but the pressure dents in stronger, like Cas is doing it on purpose. There's a little throb in the pad of Cas's thumb, like Cas’s pulse is hammering, too.

///

“Careful, careful,” Sam says as Dean and Cas stutter-step over the bunker threshold with less grace than two elementary-school kids in a three-legged race.

“Dean, I said watch your step!”

Dean rams his hip into the game table, rattling the chess pieces. He wouldn't have jolted if Sam wasn't so freakin' annoying with his whole understanding, cautious act. It's not like they're gonna tumble over the rails.

Maybe.

Dean feels Cas huff against his lips for the umpteenth time, and he doesn’t have to look to know he’s rolling his eyes.

“Wr’ tryn,” Cas mumbles haughtily, like Sam’s getting on his nerves as much as he’s getting on Dean’s.

“Whoa!” Dean hears Jack say from the Crow’s Nest below. “Sam, what's going on? That looks dangerous!”

Great, now Jack’s here for the show.

And actually, getting down the bunker stairs probably is going to kill them.

So much for dying with dignity.

“This isn’t going to work,” Sam says, hot with anxiety and blame. “Can’t you two work together? We’ve just got to get you to the infirmary and then we can figure out how to…unglue you.”

Sam has the gall to sound embarrassed about this, which, Hello? Dean’s the one macking face with Cas here.

Dean opens his eyes and tries to shoot him his stinkiest glare, but trying to turn away from Cas just makes him feel cross-eyed and like his lips are gonna rip right the Hell off. He settles for bringing his arms up on either side of Cas and shooting Sam the bird with both fingers.

“Cut that out, Dean,” Sam sniffs. “I’m trying to help you.”

Dean’s next stumble tugs hard at his and Cas’s mouths again, and it friggin’ hurts. Again.

It’s like trying to rip a stuck tongue from a frozen telephone pole or something, a la A Christmas Story. Dean feels Cas huff again, and then, Dean is lifted off the ground in a dizzying move that makes Sam squawk.

“Ohh, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Cas! Cas? Cas, wait!”

Then with a CLANKCLANKCLANK, Cas is stomping down the stairs like a madman, Dean up in his arms and squirming like he’s some kind of exuberant toddler. Dean doesn’t really think Cas is going to drop him or anything (his arms and core feel like friggin' steel), but Dean makes loud, anxious Frankenstein noises as they go anyways, selling the theatrics of terror.

When they get to the bottom of the stairs, Cas doesn’t put him down right away, and Dean breathes erratically in and out through his nose, arms winding around Cas. You know, for stability. He tugs at Cas's coat, saying, “Cssss!” like an accusation.

Before Dean can process anything else, something hard and textured comes into contact with his mouth, prodding curiously. Their mouths mush harder together, like the intrusion is triggering the spell to stick harder.

“Hey, Jack, d-don’t do that,” Dean hears Sam call, rushing down the stairs. “It might get stuck.”

“Rowena wasn’t kidding. Their mouths really are very stuck,” Jack breathes from somewhere near Dean’s left ear, and Dean growls in warning.

This ain’t some freak sideshow.

And is that a friggin’ popsicle stick?

“Jack,” Sam sighs, sounding embarrassed. “Don’t stick your popsicle ugh–-that’s gross.”

So, it is a fucking popsicle stick.

It’s got adolescent spit on it and everything.

If he keeps prodding, it’s gonna give Dean a splinter. Like, a lip splinter. Dean’s snatches it away and snaps it in half. Then, he shoots Jack the bird, too.

For good measure.

///

Dean doesn’t complain much when Sam scoots two chairs together near the infirmary cots. (They’re both too tall for the cot to be comfortable to lie down on, and sitting sideways on one of the beds would just be...awkward.)

At least this way, Dean can lean over a chair arm and and prop up on his elbow. As he gets situated, he tries not to twitch his lips against Cas’s much stiller, calmer ones.

It would be a lot easier to pull Cas to sit on top of him.

Or to hop into his lap.

(He can obviously take the weight. That's why.)

“So,” Sam says, dragging over one of the folding table and plopping the remains of the chalice in the center of it. Dean hears the thud of books being added to the workspace.

“This is all we got, then. Until Rowena gets here, I mean.”

He hears Jack pull out a chair and take a seat next to Sam.

“Is there anything I can do?” Jack asks quietly, like he’s totally unphased by this turn of events. “Maybe we could tie ropes around them and slowly pull them apart?"

Dean gets the horrible mental image of a medieval torture rack, slowly ratcheting up tension until he and Cas pull apart, lips ripping completely off and leaving gory bits of each other’s sensitive skin behind.

“Or we could tie them to two cars and drive in opposite directions,” Jack says excitedly, like this is in fact the best idea ever and not a setup for a horror movie.

“If they could be pulled apart, Cas could’ve managed that already,” Sam sighs, hair sifting like he's running his hands through it.

“Oh.”

Jack sounds disappointed.

Kid's watching too many horror movies these days.

“There’s not much on The Sapphire Chalice of Charlotte, either. The curse was supposed to disperse after I burned it. And, well. The excessive rivalry surrounding the middle school basketball playoff completely lifted, so it partially worked.”

“Excessive rivalry?”

“Oh. The case. So, here's the story: a bunch of deranged parents were sabotaging each others’ kids' sports teams,” Sam explains. “We ganked the witch, but this thing was still in play."

"So, you tracked it down just to be safe," Jack says, sounding proud.

"Yeah, but after we torched this thing, Dean and Cas got, uh, stuck. But at least the parents went back to normal...I called the sheriff on the way home.”

“Oh,” Jack murmurs thoughtfully. “All that over a basketball playoff? Didn’t know witches cared about that kinda stuff.”

"You'd be surprised," Sam sighs. “So, I’m thinking. Maybe this is like some kind of accidental rebound spell that got, uh, jumbled. I wish Rowena would just get here already.”

“They won’t start fighting, too, will they? Like the–like the sabotaging parents?”

Jack’s innocent question sends a thrill of terror down Dean’s spine.

Sam sounds disturbed. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admits quietly. “I mean, their lips are stuck. That doesn’t seem, uh, unfriendly?”

“Well, not yet,” Jack says ominously. “But what if they start biting each other?”

Dean snorts.

Here it comes.

“Like zombies!”

There it is.

He and Cas lock eyes and roll them upwards in tandem. Dean feels Cas puff air against his lips in frustration.

“Jack, focus,” Sam sighs, sounding two-hundred percent done. “All we know so far is that it hurts them to be apart. Right?”

The last bit is directed at Dean.

“You can sign a little bit, can’t you Dean?” Sam says defensively. “At least yes and no.”

Oh. Right. With a pang, Dean thinks of Eileen Leahy. Dean gives an experimental tug, trying to turn his head away and to the left, and he promptly winces. Ouch.

He signs, “Yes!”

“Oh, okay, so Cas, it doesn’t hurt you?”

Dean feels Cas jostle a little bit as his hands brush close to Dean’s chest. Even in separate chairs, they're still so close. Dean strains his eyes, trying to see as Cas signs something to Sam.

Sam sighs in relief. “Just Dean then. Okay, okay. Well, that’s good.”

Dean opens his eyes and looks cross-eyed at Cas. Well. At least it’s only hurting one of them.

Cas looks guilty and apologetic.

Don't worry about it, Cas.

Dean gets a little nervous.

He licks his lips.

And well, it makes him lip Cas's lips, too, and that just makes him more nervous.

“Can you breathe okay, Dean?” Jack cuts in loudly, leaning forward and inspecting, like this is a very important question.

Dean makes a ‘so-so’ motion with his hand.

“Maybe you could trying breathing and talking into each other’s mouths. Like the mermaids in Peter Pan?"

Sam clears his throat. “Jack, would you go make us some coffee?”

Jack frowns. “Why? They won’t be able to drink it. And Rowena likes tea. You told me that last time.”

“I could really use some coffee,” Sam begs hoarsely, and Dean snorts again.

Somehow, Sam’s flustered discomfort almost makes this worth it.

“If you could make Rowena tea, too, that’d be great, Jack.”

Jack shoots Sam a disappointed look.

“You said no ideas were bad ideas,” he says morosely, pouting as he trudges in the direction of the kitchen. “But you’re not acting very open to my ideas.” He shuts the infirmary door behind him a little harder than necessary, and Sam looks completely out of his element.

Dean’s mouth vibrates.

It’s Cas who’d started laughing this time.

///

Nothing compares to Rowena’s high-pitched, manic impression of a hyena-chimpanzee hybrid. She doesn’t stop screeching for a solid two minutes.

Dean can feel Cas’s mouth firm up against him, and he can actually feel the stressful press of Cas’s teeth against his lower lip.

Stop that, Dean thinks, shoving his lower lip forward in what he hopes is a soothing motion.

“Oh, Samuel, you didn’t prepare me for this,” she hiccups, wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh, the poor wee dears.”

Sam stiffens. “Will they be okay?”

“Oh, they’ll be fine. They just got caught in the reverse curse rebound. It’ll probably be gone in a matter of days.”

Sam does a double-take. “D-Days?”

“Well, I can’t be sure about these things, Samuel. Could be days, could be hours. Could ebb away slowly, keeping them close in orbit, but not lip-locked. All I can tell you is that it’s not affecting their vital faculties at all or holding any kind of volatile sway over their minds.”

Dean hums at her angrily.

“You said the parents were violently bashing each other in the face. The dispellment, in close proximity, had the reversal effect, so instead of fighting, well, you get a wee exploding of the opposite enchantment. Kiss and Make up. Mwah! They just happened to be standing close together, no? Or were you two little birds bantering?"

Dean frowns.

They had been arguing about the latest episode of Real Housewives of Atlanta. Could that have been enough to attract the spell remnants?

Cas sighs against him, having come to the same conclusion. He signs something to Sam.

“Rowena, can you estimate how long?” Sam translates. “And is there anything that can lessen its effect? The spell hurts Dean.”

Dean hears her rifle through pages and clear her throat.

“Well, the counter for this one is in the form of a riddle, but it’s badly preserved in my book. The original chalice was hunted as a means to entice countries and warring tribes into full-on war. Reversed, well. I can’t quite make it out, but translated, it’s something very simple and unhelpful, like ‘Stop fighting.’ There's no real details on undoing it.”

Sam leans over her.

“That’s all I can make out, too,” he sighs.

Cas signs something, and Sam says sure before garbling out some Latin mixed with gobbly gook and Cas huffs like it’s a disappointment.

“I told you it wasn’t much, Cas,” Sam snaps bitchily.

Dean pats Cas on the shoulder like, At least we’re not in danger. We just gotta wait this out.

Dean hears Rowena pat Sam lightly on the cheek.

“You can call me if anything changes, but I assure you they will be fine. It’s no fault of yours, Samuel. Don't worry your little tush. If anything changes, I'll rush right back.”

"You don't wanna stick around?"

"Mmm, I'd love to stay and witness this blackmail of epic proportions. Alas, I've a prior engagement.

///

After Rowena departs, Jack skitters in with tea and coffee. “I don't think she likes me much,” he whispers, dumping out the tea in the sink and handing over a fresh mug of coffee to Sam. “She said no to the tea and looked at me like. Like…”

“We just gotta give her space,” Sam breaks in. “You can’t force Rowena. She's complicated.”

“Complicated,” Jack echoes quietly, like he he's already traced that to Lucifer. “Okay.” He shakes himself out of it and turns back to Dean and Cas. “But why couldn’t she heal them? You said Rowena was powerful.”

“Apparently, the spell will fade on its own,” Sam explains tiredly, stretching, popping his back, and then taking a sip of his coffee. “And I trust her, Jack. I really do. This is all we can do tonight. I'm beat.”

“I can help Dean and Cas get to bed,” Jack rushes excitedly, proud he’s come up with something useful to do.

Dean hears Sam snicker at that. “Actually, yeah. You make sure they get to bed, Jack. I’ll check in later.”

Great.

Dean hears Sam shuffle away, and then Jack’s slim hands fumble to grab onto their arms. “How about Cas walks backwards, and I can lead you to Dean’s room to make sure you don’t trip over anything?”

He says it like it’s brilliant, and even Cas sighs in exhaustion. He signs, “yes,” and starts helping Dean up, careful to rise in tandem from their chairs and not put stress on their connected lips.

“Okay,” Jack breathes, once they’re up and balanced. “You can count on me.”

He pauses.

“Hey, what if I count our steps out loud as we walk? That’ll help, right?”

As it turns out, it doesn’t help much at all, and hearing, One-Two, One-Two, One-Two has Dean ready to jump into Cas’s arms and insist he carry him the rest of the way...or else kill all three of them.

Dean makes a horrified, annoyed noise, but Cas actually nips at him for it. Then he gropes forward to get Jack’s attention.

The counting stops.

Ouch, Dean thinks distantly.

He bit me.

He thinks about Jack's zombies! comment and shivers.

///

The rest of the ambling, awkward shuffle to Room 11 is filled with more of Jack’s prattling: the episodes of The Walking Dead he’d watched that morning, the week-old bologna he’d accidentally eaten for lunch, and how he still thinks they could pry them apart if they put their minds to it.

Dean shudders against Cas’s lips, recalling Jack’s idea for hooking them to two moving vehicles.

Once they make it into Dean’s room, Jack follows them in, and Dean just wishes to god that the kid would go away and quit trying to help. It was humiliating enough with Sam around. Dean just wants to suffer alone in peace for five damn minutes.

Well, alone with Cas.

Cas doesn’t count in this situation.

Obviously.

But then, Jack starts getting real cute in his efforts, and even Dean doesn’t have the heart to kick him out. First, Jack wrestles off Dean’s jackets till he’s down to just his tee shirt. He drapes the dead guy robe over Dean's shoulders and gives him an hearty little shoulder pat.

Then, he ruins it again with an awkward cough and, “You should take your pants and shoes off, too, Dean. You never sleep in your shoes.”

It’s almost funny.

Dean always used to sleep in his shoes, and here this kid clocks that as abnormal.

Here, in the midst of multiple Apocalypses and alternate universes, they’ve developed something of a routine.

So, Dean gives him a weak little thumbs up and scrambles to toe off his boots, which proves wobbly and nearly impossible to balance till Jack jumps down to loosen them.

“Thanks, Jack,” Dean tries to say, Jack’s innocent cheerfulness temporarily distracting him from the curse. The attempt goes about as well as you’d expect, mouth smushing against Cas without mercy and garbling the words.

But at least the contact is much softer this time.

Dean opens his eyes to peer at Cas and against all that blue, Dean nearly loses his balance stepping out of his damn shoes.

Blind to his predicament, Jack chirps, “You’re welcome,” without missing a beat.

Cas allows Jack to take his overcoat next, and then Jack coaxes Cas to step out of his black dress shoes.

Dean wisely keeps his jeans up.

“Well,” Jack says, satisfied with their progress, “Like Sam said, the Latin says as long as you don’t fight it, you’ll be fine. So, I should probably stay and watch over you, to make sure you don’t fight.”

Cas’s eyes widen comically, and Dean can’t help it. He groans. Cas’s eyes stay wide as he signs something to Jack.

Dean's surprised Jack even knows sign language, but the kid picked up his first language in utero, so maybe it makes sense.

“Well, that’s how I read it anyway, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jack huffs. “I’m sure Sam and Rowena are better at broken Latin than I am.”

Cas signs again.

“Cas, are you sure? Even if Dean goes to sleep, I could keep you company. I thought we could watch Cars 2 or something. If you want, I could even try pulling you apart every couple of hours.”

Dean feels Cas smile.

Their lips are so smacked together that it pulls Dean’s lips into a smile, too. Dean gets a little distracted by the feel of it.

Cas must sign something to Jack one more time, because Dean hears the kid deflate.

“Okay,” Dean hears Jack sigh dejectedly. “Good night then.”

Dean is relieved to see him go, but a disturbingly squishy part of him wants to tell Jack to cook up some popcorn and put on Cars 2 anyway, no matter how annoying or disruptive he’d be.

After Jack gently shuts the door, they listen to his sad, scuffing footsteps grow quieter and quieter.

Finally, Cas heaves a relieved sigh and waves a hand. The lock clicks.

///

Something about the click of the lock feels embarrassing. The sound is too loud as it ricochets off the walls, cliché and mocking.

Dean closes his eyes against the feeling. It wants to drown him, and he needs to crack a joke--preferably something clever, vaguely mean, and at Cas’s expense.

Instead, he just vibrates nervously, a wobbly chuckle parting his lips. He only barely restrains himself from lapsing into his favored nervous lip-licking.

So they just stand, dead silent, in the center of the room.

When Dean opens his eyes, the lamplight is low and unsettling. It wraps what few planes of Cas’s face Dean might be able to see in shadow. Dean swallows and concentrates on the feel of his mouth, holding out for any twitch that might betray Cas's mind.

But Cas’s mouth is just a hard, unforgiving line.

“Css?” he shapes, and it feels like brushing his lips against a smooth, cool stone.

Cas doesn't respond, and that gets the nerves firing helplessly again. At the lack of response, Dean presses his mouth forward, just the barest hint of pressure--a question in the push.

If he could just get a better look at Cas's face, he could read him.

Instinctually, stupidly, Dean tries to lean back to get a look at him. As if it's sentient, the curse yanks his head so painfully that it rips a pained moan from recesses of his throat.

Cas snaps out of his reverie and surges forward, hands coming from out of nowhere to cradle Dean’s face.

“Oh, Dean. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

The words are soft and mushed up and missing syllables, but somehow, he's perfectly understandable.

With a start, Dean realizes that they can shape words pretty well when they don’t worry about the unnecessary lip contact.

It’s also pretty obvious why that would have been embarrassing to try in front of other people.

Hell, just Cas doing the coupla sentences against him feels.

It feels like.

Dean breathes forcibly out through his nose.

“S'fine,” he murmurs back.

He probably shouldn’t talk more than necessary. Talking has him wanting to reach out and press their chests together, and not just to lessen the burden on his straining neck.

Not to mention, Cas is still cradling his face, palms slowly boiling him alive and flaying his cheeks. Dean licks his lips, and that nervous gesture proves particularly self-defeating this time. It's like a second-degree burn where it touches.

Cas licks his own lips, too.

“Dean, Dean, I have an idea.”

Dean hums, nothing to say back, but liking the feel of the sounds mutually buzzing through their lips.

“For how to unstick us,” Cas murmurs, pressing the words into him like a languid caress. “Jack’s Latin translation was essentially: stop fighting.”

Dean is vaguely aware how this motion between them could be classed, but he follows it, leans into it, and lets it scald his face. He pinches his brows together, then, parsing Cas’s words.

“What, huh? But,” he whispers, not as good as Cas is at getting his lips to shape things. “We’re not fightin.”

Definitely not fighting.

Whatever this is...

...it’s not that.

Cas’s thumbs press into his cheeks.

“No,” he agrees. “We’re not.”

And then, the motion changes, and it’s not just mouthing words anymore. It’s Cas working their mouths together with new purpose.

Dean becomes hyperaware of everything, from the chapped press of Cas’s fingerpads scraping over his pores to the shff of Cas’s sock feet as he slides closer. Dean scrambles to get his hands around Cas’s waist, and one of his fingers crowds helplessly through one of Cas's belt loops.

Like he’s been electrocuted, Dean valiantly surges, standing up taller and working desperately to take control of a dangerously careening situation. He groans low in his throat and prods at the seam of Cas’s mouth with his tongue.

Cas lets him in.

Then, Dean hangs on for dear life.

One of Cas’s hands curls around the nape of his neck, and Dean makes some kind of strangled sigh, gushing air into Cas’s mouth and shuddering again when their teeth clack together.

Cas's other hand moves over the top of Dean's head, bossily pressing his forehead, then thumbing down his cheek to move him to a better angle. That hand smooths down his face further now, finding pressure points in hollow spaces that make Dean's mouth fall open wider.

There's a gentle suckling on Dean's tongue, and he "Mmmmmgh!"

When one of Cas’s hands skims down to Dean’s quivering ribs, Dean's whole body gives a little jolt, and they come unglued.

Dean’s mouth gapes frantically, sucking in room air for the first time in hours. He feels like a fish flung out of its fish tank, gasping for water to make its gills work. His eyes snap to Cas in shock.

“C-caas,” he gasps, realizing what’s happened, “we came apart.”

Cas looks at him guardedly, not even breathing hard. They're still holding onto each other.

“Oh. It worked.”

Dean tries to get his (rather embarassing) panting under control. They’d been kissing.

Like, not just pressing together.

Kissing kissing.

Right. The curse. Strategy. Control.

Of course. That's so like Cas.

“Wh-what did you do?” he huffs, swiping at his lips with the back of his knuckles.

They’re tender, bruised, and even a little bloody in the aftermath of the curse.

Cas stiffens, then gently pulls himself away, like he’s wary of triggering a fresh bout of pain. When it doesn’t seem to, he uncurls his right hand from where he’d been hugging Dean’s ribs.

“The clue for the 'kiss and makeup’ curse is to stop fighting. But the way Jack read it, it sounded like we needed to stop fighting…it.”

Dean cottons on.

Oh.

“So, we had to embrace making out to beat it, huh?”

Cas solemnly nods.

“Figures. And the kid thought he had bad ideas.”

The fingers on Cas's left hand, still gripping his neck, tap a pattering beat on the nape of his neck.

Dean's still got a grip on Cas's belt, so he rubs his thumb, almost spasm-like, on the leather he finds there.

Dean tries to lighten the mood.

“So, izzat it? Superglue all gone?”

Cas hums and concentrates on the ceiling.

“I believe so. Yes.”

“So we can let go now? It won't hurt?"

Cas’s hand abruptly withdraws from around his neck, and he takes a step back.

Dean wishes he’d kept his big mouth shut.

He lets his own hand slide slowly away from Cas’s hip, relinquishing the belt loop.

Turns out, it’s kind of hard to start a conversation after a liplocking curse and heavy makeout sesh with your bestie.

��So uh, that was kinda rough, wasn’t it?”

Cas looks up in confusion, and Dean ducks his head slyly, motioning to his abused lips. Like clockwork, Cas steps back in, fussing in that Cas way that Dean secretly enjoys.

Cas hovers a finger over his lips and an easy thrum of grace soothes his broken blood vessels and chipped skin.

Dean chuckles, too soft.

“Think the curse did most o’ that. Don’t think that was all from you.”

Cas looks abashed now, and he glares at a spot over Dean’s shoulder, totally clamming up.

“Oh, come on. What’s that face about?”

Cas’s mouth tightens even more. Dean remembers how it felt to move against it, just to try and soften it.

“I should be able to break such a curse,” he explains, scowling. All that hate aimed inward in a way Dean totally gets.

The subject of Cas’s powers is one Dean can’t navigate too well. Telling Cas, “No, actually, you’re really strong,” almost never works.

“You did break it, though,” and Dean lets himself smile an easygoing smile. “Sometimes brains and brawn is the best combo to be, you know?”

Cas steps away again, and Dean gets a thrill of terror that he's said the wrong thing again.

“Come on, Cas. Talk to me. Ever heard of taking a damn compliment?”

Cas sighs and gives a helpless shrug. His sideways smile is a little sheepish, a little wry.

“Lately, I feel like neither of those things. Smart. Strong.”

It’s a quiet admission.

Dean doesn’t know what to do with that vulnerability, and apparently he’s a coward, so he loudly guffaws and says, “Idiot. A little bruising to my lips, and you’re down in the dumps. I’m fine.”

Dean’s not trying to be coy or cutesy, but he gets right up in Cas’s face as he says it. Cas’s eyes still remain downcast, so Dean tries again.

“Besides, this is probably the one place you don’t have to be either of those things.”

There he is.

Cas’s eyes shift up, a little warmer now. In Cas-terms, it’s as good as a smile.

“Room 11 is the place to be a pathetic loser dumbass. In fact, it’s required on entry.”

Dean is rewarded with a real Cas-smile now.

“I suppose that makes sense. This is the original home of Winchester movie night.”

Dean’s got no idea why he’s swaying so close, arms hovering like he wants to grab hold. This is the part where Cas should awkwardly shrug on his overcoat and make a swift getaway.

“Hey,” Dean says suddenly, cooking up some barb about how Cas should like Dean’s dumbass movies because Cas is in fact a Bonafide dumbass for being friends with him, but what comes out is, “wanna watch Cars 2?”

Cas groans and rolls his eyes, and suddenly it’s easy territory again. “I dislike Cars 2.”

Dean pinches at his elbow teasingly, “But it’s Jack’s favorite movie.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying you want me to text him and invite him here?”

“No!” Dean says too quickly, and Cas actually looks surprised by his outburst. “I. I mean.” He swallows. “What if the curse comes back? Rowena said we might need to, like, orbit. Right?”

“Dean. I’ve checked. When we broke the curse, the thready magic that was wound around your body evaporated. You’re safe.”

You're safe.

“But,” and here Dean’s cheeks heat up. “What if it did, though?”

Cas sighs. "I'll stay."

I'll stay.

"But, Dean. Pick something different than Cars 2."

They queue up Vanderpump Rules.

Dean sneaks glances at his lips all night.

#self indulgent fic #holidays #new years #dean/cas + liplocked #dean/cas #dean/cas + silent communication #ficlets #complete fics #curse #jack & sam & dean & cas #sam & rowena #jack & sam #jack & dean & cas

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