15. Limbo

(If you’re sleepy, you can go to sleep.)

Castiel stifles another yawn and shakes his head. He tries to focus on the book propped open against Dean’s leg, but the small symbols keep blurring together. The letters Dean calls ‘lower case’ are harder to tell apart than the ‘upper case’ letters. And the sounds are all so foreign. Especially the sounds that go ‘th’. He doesn’t like those letters. His tongue doesn’t form around them right and it’s an endless source of delight for Dean.

(Cas, seriously. Go to sleep.) Dean reaches down and pushes his fingers through Castiel’s hair. (You only had a few hours sleep before I woke up, didn’t you? So you were awake basically the whole time I was out. You’ve gotta be super tired.)

He shakes his head again, dislodging Dean’s hand. (I don’t want to sleep.)

(Why not?)

He rubs at his eyes and doesn’t answer.

Dean puts aside his own book and moves the one Castiel is trying to read. So far he’s been able to say the words, forming the sounds around them in his stilted pronunciation. Some of the words, once he’s pieced the syllables together, are recognizable. But he doesn’t know what anything he’s reading actually means.

Castiel reaches for the book, but Dean puts them both on top of the drawers next to him. He flicks the end of his tail over the pillow in annoyance and glares up at Dean.

(I want to keep reading.)

(You stopped asking what the words mean over an hour ago. You’re not even really reading anymore. C’mon Cas, I’ll put you back in the tank and you can get some rest.) Dean stands and leans over to get his hands under Castiel’s chest.

He rolls away, pressing against the wall and curling his tail to push at Dean’s legs. (I don’t want to.)

(You don’t want to sleep and you don’t want to go into the tank. Dude, you are cranky when you’re tired.) Dean’s amusement washes over Castiel’s thoughts and he frowns at it. It’s annoying. The flare of his fans only makes Dean’s smile widen. (C’mon. You haven’t even given me a good reason why you don’t want to sleep. Or go back in the tank.)

Castiel shakes his head and tucks his arms under his chest so Dean can’t grab them and pull him toward the edge of the bed. He doesn’t want to go to sleep and lose time with Dean. Sleeping only makes time seem like it’s going by faster and Castiel wants time to go slower. He doesn’t want to sleep only to wake up just before Lilith comes back.

He would like to go back into the very-small-sea because he misses the water. But he wants Dean to get in with him. It’s not so lonely stuck between the glass-walls when Dean is there too. But the water is too deep for Dean to be able to relax. The water is above his head if he sits on the floor of the very-small-sea.

If Castiel has to sleep, he wants to sleep with Dean’s warmth pressed against him. The short stick on the clock is back on the single symbols and Dean said that it means that it’s very late. It’s been many hours since they kissed in the very-small-sea. Afterward, they had crossed their arms over the edges of the glass-walls, side-by-side, and simply talked.

Dean told him about his baby, providing several images of her shiny metals and extolling the wonders of the machinery under what he calls the ‘hood’. Castiel liked listening. Dean’s smile was fond, and wide, and he would gesture grandly while talking. Sometimes he slipped into talking with his throat voice and Castiel liked that too. His voice is rough and pleasant and when Castiel closes his eyes it vibrates over his skin and through his bones.

And when Dean was done, he asked about Castiel. He asked about his home, and his family, and what Castiel would do for fun. Castiel told him. He showed him memories of training, of playing with his brothers while he was growing up. He showed Dean memories of the trench and the songs his kin would sing.

They had stayed in the water until Sam came back with more food for Dean and a bucket with fish for Castiel. Sam hadn’t stayed long. He said that he and Bobby were trying to look into stealing one of the lifeboats. Castiel and Dean had both wanted to hear more about this plan, but Sam had warned that they were being watched much more closely than the others and the less they were involved, the better.

He hadn’t said why, but Castiel knows. Lilith is coming back in less than a day, and Alistair had made the promise that he’ll get to do what he wants. No one wants to take the risk that, under the prompting of pain, it’s very possible that Castiel could try to persuade them to stop by offering up information that Lilith would want to know about.

Castiel balks at the thought of ever turning on Sam or Dean. But he can’t guarantee that he won’t break. He may be an experienced warrior, but he hasn’t been trained to withstand any kind of torture.

It had put a damper on the evening and Castiel had only picked at his fish. Dean had eaten his whole supper and sorted through the few books that Sam had left for something with bigger symbols and less words. He’d used the books and sounds and words to distract Castiel from the thoughts of tomorrow.

(Cas, c’mon. You’ve been outta the tank for hours now. You need to soak up again and you can do that in the tank, yeah?) Dean puts one knee on the bed and leans over to touch Castiel’s arm. (If you want to sleep here, all you gotta do is ask, y’know?)

(I don’t want to sleep.) Castiel turns his face into the blankets and has to stifle another yawn. (I want to stay awake with you.)

A soft warmth creeps over Dean’s thoughts and he gently rubs Castiel’s arm. (As sweet as that is, you’re just going to drop off at some point without realizing it and it might as well be in the water.)

Castiel shakes his head again and feeds an image of being curled around Dean into the kin-connection. If Dean continues to insist that Castiel go to sleep, then it will have to be here. A soft chuckle tickles his side-fans and they twitch. He peeks up at the grin pulling at Dean’s lips.

(Okay, okay. It means I’ll be sleeping in a damp bed again, but that’s fine. C’mon. Help me water your tail and then we can get comfortable.) Dean starts to wiggle a hand under Castiel’s side, the other fitting over his back.

He frowns as he pushes up to make it easier to drag him to the edge of the bed. Dean has made several sacrifices for Castiel’s comfort already and he keeps making more every time Castiel is selfish. Logic says that Castiel should sleep in the very-small-sea. It would be more comfortable for the both of them and Castiel wouldn’t be impeding anything Dean might want to do during the night. There is no tiredness in Dean’s mind and he’s only been awake half the day.

Castiel puts his arms around Dean’s shoulders as he picks him up. (I’ll sleep in the very-small-sea.)

Surprise flickers through the kin-connection and Dean blinks at him with his eyebrows raised. (How come? I don’t mind you sleeping with me.)

(You shouldn’t have to sleep in a wet bed because of me.)

(If it bothered me, I’d say it. Seriously, Cas, it’s fine.)

Castiel shakes his head and curls his tail around Dean’s waist. (I understand. But you’re going to be up longer and I don’t want to be a hindrance to you. I’ll sleep there and you can move about doing whatever it is you want to do.)

Dean turns and sits on the edge of the bed with Castiel settled in his lap. Castiel straightens and looks around in confusion before turning to Dean. He smothers a noise of surprise as he’s pulled forward into a kiss. His adipose fins rustle and his fans creaks when they flex. It’s just a soft, quick kiss that ends before Castiel can even properly respond.

(Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary, Cas.) Dean tilts his head to press another kiss to his lips. (You’re the last person who should be trying to accommodate me. And you should know me well enough by now that if I really don’t like something, I’ll say it.)

He hums in agreement and cups Dean’s face, holding him in place so he stops pulling away after every kiss. Castiel licks at Dean’s lips, tasting the salt of the very-small-sea still on his skin. He purrs when Dean opens under the touch and gently sucks at Castiel’s tongue before pushing his way into Castiel’s mouth. Dean seems to have a fascination with tracing his teeth, curling over the points before tasting deeper.

(You too sleepy for one last thing?) Dean’s fingers slide over his back, hands pressing his fans down before running up his sides.

Castiel shivers at the touch, his adipose fins rippling. He’s tired, but there’s no way he wants to go to sleep when Dean’s warm hands are curving over his shoulders and along his collarbone. Dean’s teeth drag over his bottom lip and he can feel Dean’s smile against his mouth because he knows Castiel doesn’t need to answer with words. The tightening of his grip in Dean’s hair is answer enough.

Dean leans away, his thumb pressing up under Castiel’s chin to tilt his head back. To bare his throat like this puts him in a vulnerable position. His hands drop to Dean’s shoulders, and he presses his claws into the shirt covering them in warning. Dean’s fingers trace over the pulse in his neck. (You still want to learn how to make hickeys?)

He tightens his tail, the end of it twitching against Dean’s thigh. Castiel swallows and he can feel the motion pressing against Dean’s fingers. He bites his lip and nods, pulsing approval and desire into the kin-connection. His fans spread and creak when he feels the wash of Dean’s breath over his skin and he moves his hands to splay his fingers over Dean’s spine, pulling him closer.

(It’s really simple, Cas. I bet you’ll get it first try.) Castiel holds his breath when Dean tilts his head and presses a kiss to his pulse point.

Dean’s fingers are almost too warm where they settle in the small of his back, thumbs brushing against the bottom spine of his back-fans. Castiel lets out his breath in a sharp burst when Dean’s tongue wets the place he kissed and there’s a brief scrape of teeth.

(You’ll have to be more careful with yours – but you just do it like this.)

Castiel can’t see it happening. He has to go by the touch of Dean’s lips. A small gasp escapes him when Dean seals his mouth over the pulse and sucks. He curls his fingers in Dean’s shirt and his fins rustle violently as Dean licks and sucks and bites at that one spot. Dean encourages every breathy little moan that Castiel makes, his approval and satisfaction curling warm through the kin-connection.

His breath is coming in quick, sharp bursts and Castiel’s heart is beating hard against his ribs. He’s certain Dean can feel it where their chests are pressed together. Castiel whines whenever Dean’s hands move, nails dragging softly over the skin along his sides and over his hips to palm the sharp jut of them.

There’s a slick sound when Dean moves from that one spot. Castiel hisses in surprise when Dean licks over the edge of his gills, tongue flicking over the scales that line them. Dean sits back again and licks his lips.

(Hope you were taking notes. Although if you need a repeat performance, I’d be more than happy to show you again.)He grins, touching where he left his mark before dragging his fingertips lightly over his collarbone.

Dean sends the image into the kin-connection and heat thrums hot under Castiel’s skin at the mottled red and purple mark on his neck. Castiel uncurls from around Dean and pushes at his shoulders. Dean bounces when he falls against the bed and immediately he tilts his head back. The heat under Castiel’s skin is matched by the warmth throbbing through their link.

Castiel twines his tail around Dean’s legs and presses his nose to the underside of his jaw. Dean’s hands smooth over his sides in long, even strokes while Castiel licks over the stubble roughened skin. He tastes the same salt on his skin and Castiel can’t decide where he wants to leave his mark. A shiver slips down his spine and heat pools tight in his chest and below his stomach.

He gets to mark him.

Dean will walk around in front of Pamela, Lilith, everyone he knows bearing Castiel’s mark on his throat. On one of the most vulnerable places on his body. It makes a light, fluttery feeling fill his chest and swirl down into his stomach and back up.

Dean makes a soft noise of surprise and he jerks under him when Castiel cautiously tries dragging his teeth over Dean’s clavicle. His hands grips tightly over Castiel’s sides, the edge of his cast digging into his skin. Little red lines mark the shelf of his collarbone, but there is no blood and no broken skin.

Every so often, Dean’s hips roll up against his. Castiel decides on the hard center of Dean’s throat. He licks over it and he can feel the gentle vibrations of Dean’s pleased hum against his tongue.

(Gonna do it there, Cas?) Anticipation curls around Dean’s words and he can feel the rapid race of his pulse against his lips.

Castiel closes his mouth over the skin and sucks. Dean makes a quiet, strangled noise in the back of his throat and his back arches. He pulls away a few moments later to inspect the small mark and he licks at it, feeling the heat of Dean’s blood under his skin. Castiel sucks and kisses and licks and he wants to bite, but the sharp points of his teeth would hurt him.

It would leave a more permanent mark. The kind of mark that Dean would bear long after Castiel goes home. It’s the kind of mark he wants to leave, to show that he was here. Dean doesn’t want that kind of mark. He hasn’t asked for it and Castiel won’t do it. He can’t. But every scrape of his teeth draws the most interesting noises and the sounds are addicting.

He tries not to think about where else he could kiss Dean that would draw those noises. Or what other kinds of sounds he could get Dean to make. Castiel presses his teeth around the mark while dragging his tongue over it. It’s not quite a bite but it shows that he could. He flares his fans possessively when Dean’s fingers press hard into his back and Dean groans.

Castiel pulls at the collar of Dean’s shirt, dragging it down until he can see one of Pamela’s marks. He kisses away from his first mark until he reaches the other. Dean’s brief flicker of confusion gives way immediately to understanding and amusement. A huff of laughter makes Dean’s chest shake under his and Dean’s hips are pushing up harder against him in slow thrusts.

Dean hums in approval while Castiel covers Pamela’s fading mark with one of his own. He tilts his head to give Castiel more room. The shirt won’t pull down far enough to show more of the marks and Castiel has to pull away entirely to push Dean’s shirt up and out of the way so he can get at the rest of them. No one might know or notice that these marks will no longer be Pamela’s.

Dean’s breath skips and stutters when his chest is bared, his shirt pushed up into the pits of his arms. Castiel moves from one spot to the other after he’s made it darker and wider, more obvious. Dean’s hands slide down his back and grip the swell of his tail below his back-fans.

The heat is dragging hot and quick through his body and pooling in his gut. He knows what the sharp push of Dean’s hips against him is, and the hardness pressing into his scales. It’s getting difficult to breathe and Dean’s scent is flooding his senses, making it hard to focus on anything else but the salt of his skin and the sounds Dean makes.

Castiel especially likes the nearly silent whine when his tongue drags over a mark close to one of his nipples. When he does it again, Dean twists his chest to press closer. Desire flows through the kin-connection accompanied with unspoken images that clearly show what he wants. Castiel complies immediately, licking curiously at the hardening nipple.

Dean makes the best sound then, and a quiet curse hisses between his teeth as he arches into the press of Castiel’s tongue. The noise dives through Castiel, tugging hard at his insides and burning into the pit of his stomach. He can feel the muscles of his sheath starting to twitch and Castiel should stop. He should stop because this is a dangerous line to cross and thinking about doing anything more makes the magma in his belly boil as panic knots behind his sternum.

His blood is rushing, searing his veins but he can’t stop until all of Pamela’s marks are his own. It’s pounding in his head and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. He’s gasping into Dean’s skin and his hands are starting to shake where they press into the bed.

Castiel barely notices the beep of the door, but Dean does. He surges up, pushing at Castiel’s shoulders. He rolls away and curls at the head of the bed, hugging the fold of his tail to his chest and pressing his face to his scales. He breathes slow, focusing on the in and out though his lungs again like he did before.

A part of him wants to wrap around Dean again, hold him to the bed and press their hips together. He wants to rub against him and find out all the different sounds that Dean can make. Castiel wants to bring himself to completion in the taste of Dean and lose himself in the scent of his skin. The want is coursing under his scales and it’s new and fantastic and terrifying.

The bed shifts when Dean stands and Castiel peeks up over the edge of his tail. Jess stops when she comes around the door. She blinks at Dean and he pauses while adjusting his shirt.

A knowing smile pulls at her lips. “Did I interrupt?”

“Kinda, yeah.” There’s only a slight embarrassment trembling the borders of Dean’s mind. “It’s pretty late, what are you doing here?”

“We left our extra pillows in here and Sam’s hogging the ones we’ve got.”

Dean laughs and shifts from side to side as an uncomfortable edge starts to colour his thoughts.  “Yeah, he does that. I’m pretty sure I warned you about that before you two got serious.”

Jess shrugs and her eyes slide from Dean to him. “Hi Castiel.”

He wiggles his fingers over his scales in a small wave and Dean glances back over his shoulder, a fond amusement warming his thoughts. Jess makes a soft noise and both of them look back to her. There’s a small smile tugging one side of her mouth up and she gestures at her throat.

“Nice artwork. That new?”

Dean grins and Castiel bites his lip when he reaches up and touches the mark. “Sure is. If you think this one is good, you should see the rest.” He tugs at the collar of his shirt and Jess rolls her eyes.

“I should be surprised you managed to seduce a merman, but I’m really, really not.” She shakes her head, laughing softly before crossing the room to get the pillows. When she stops at the door, her expression tightens and she opens her mouth as if to say something but she holds her tongue and shakes her head again. “You guys should get some rest soon. There’s a long day ahead of us.”

Confusion and a slight concern mark Dean’s thoughts as he waves her off. He locks the door behind her but by the time he turns around, Castiel is sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

(As awesome as it would be to pick up where we left off, you need to get some sleep.)

Castiel nods and he stifles a yawn when Dean picks him up. The small interruption with Jess was enough for the heat under his skin to cool. It’s enough for him to start to ignore it and he pointedly looks away from the mark on Dean’s throat.

Dean presses a kiss to his temple while he puts his tail over the glass-wall. (You’re going to over think what just happened and I’m just saying, you shouldn’t. Don’t think about it. It happened, it was awesome, and it should totally happen again. There’s a whole lot more that you haven’t gotten to try yet and it’s all pretty damn awesome. Just enjoy it. Don’t think about it.)

He hums and makes eddies in the water when he twists his tail through it. Castiel can’t guarantee that he won’t think about it, but he’s trying very hard not to right now. The edges of his mind are getting fuzzy and it’s not too hard to not focus on how he should have had better control over himself.

Castiel turns his head and presses a lazy kiss to the corner of Dean’s jaw, mumbling a ‘good night’ against his skin before sliding into the water. He sinks to the bottom and he chokes slightly as water fills his lungs before it rushes through his gills properly. Dean crouches on the other side of the glass-wall and Castiel turns onto his side, curling and tucking the end of his tail under his head. He pillows his cheek against his fins and Dean waves at it him.

(Sweet dreams, Cas.)

He sends a small burst of appreciation for the sentiment and he closes his eyes as Dean stands. He counts each breath until the darkness behind his eyelids becomes complete and he knows nothing past that.

x

When Castiel wakes, the first thing he notices are the emotions curling through the kin-connection from Dean. There’s surprise, unrest, embarrassment, and too many for Castiel’s still sleep addled mind to sort through. He yawns and unfolds, his tail sliding against the glass before he can stretch it toward the other end of the very-small-sea.

The second thing he notices is a familiar fading ache in his gut and the scent in the water. He sits up quickly and looks around sharply, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Dean is laying on his bed, his back toward Castiel. Cautiously, he reaches out for his mind and the brush of his thoughts makes Dean flinch.

(Dean?)

(Yeah?)

(Did you… Did I…?)

Dean shifts and turns his head slightly to look over his shoulder. (I didn’t, and you did.)

(Oh.) He looks down at his lap and smoothes his hands over his scales. Castiel feeds his regret into the kin-connection. He doesn’t tell Dean that it’s because he’s disappointed that he can’t remember whatever he dreamed that brought him to this. (I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.)

He brushes aside Castiel’s apology and rolls over to sit up. (This wasn’t my first sleepover, Cas. You had a happy dream and frankly after how many times you got blue balled yesterday, you deserved it. Sorry about that, by the way. I should have, y’know, done something about that.)

Castiel shakes his head and glances up at Dean. (It’s better that you didn’t. I would have… I don’t know.)

(Yeah, I get it.) Dean rubs at the back of his neck and indecision flares through his thoughts. He tilts his head back to look at the ceiling. (Uh, I did – well I kinda… saw... I mean – I heard a thump – which I guess was you hitting the wall or something – and when I looked over you were kind of –) He gestures vaguely. (I wouldn’t have looked if I had known.)

He can feel a blush heat his gills and he looks away from the bruise colouring the middle of Dean’s throat. (You’re lying.)

(Okay, yeah. I would totally peek. Just coz’, y’know, I’m curious and shit. And you peeked first so it’s only fair. But I swear that as soon as I saw what was going on, I didn’t look again.) Dean’s honesty curls around the images and his words.

Castiel chews on his bottom lip lightly and brushes his thumb over the dotted design that circles around his sheath. From what he’s seen through the kin-connection from Sam and Dean, and the brief glimpse of Dean in the shower that he caught yesterday. He knows that fin-kin and human males have similar genitals, but they are still very different both in size and shape.

(Can I ask you something?) Dean prods his curiosity at Castiel’s mind. He nods and then winces at Dean’s question. (Do all  fin-kin have glowing dicks, or is it just you?)

He presses his lips together in a thin line and turns a disapproving glare on Dean. (It’s not our penises that glow. It’s the glow-pattern on them.)

(So it’s not just on your tail? That’s… kinda really awesome.) Dean’s grin cools the edges of his glare.

(We don’t just have them on our tails, Dean. Our glows are on our skin too.) Castiel stretches one of his arms above his head, showing off his side and the lines of blue stacked from his hip up until they curve over his lowest ribs.

He touches the circles above the scales on his cheeks and shares images of his nest brothers. First he shows Dean memories of Gabriel and the dotted bursts of lines that spread from his temple to his eyes and over his cheeks and the similar lines stretching from his scales towards his ribs. Next he shows the dotted orange line down the center of Michael’s throat, and the tower of lines marking the inside of his arm.

Dean’s lips purse around what must be a whistle, but Castiel can’t hear it through the water and glass. (That’s awesome. Man, you guys look really badass and us humans are just so… blah.)

(Despite the cruelty I’ve seen that humans are capable of – you are still amazing.) Castiel shrugs and ruffles his fans. (You make such interesting things; machines that can fly through the air, or float on the sea, or swim in the water. We make weapons and tools and trinkets. But nothing anywhere near what I’ve seen on this boat or in your memories. My colony evolved glows because we needed it. But you humans adjust your world instead of your bodies to fit your needs.)

He can sense Dean’s impending argument and he smothers it, shaking his head. (What time is it?)

Dean’s frowns at the topic change and his irritation pulses slightly. (Pushing close to midday.)

His fans flare in surprise and Castiel pushes up and curls his tail underneath him, hunching forward to keep his head underwater. (When is Lilith coming back?)

(A few hours. Five, six? They never really gave us much of a time frame beyond ‘afternoon’.) He stands and stretches, twisting at his waist. (You hungry? You still have some bucket fish left.)

Castiel shrugs. Anxiety is making his stomach turn and he doesn’t feel too hungry. He rests his palm over his stomach and he stares down at it until Dean’s concern makes him look back up.

(You’re Lilith’s biggest prize. She’s not going to let Alistair actually hurt you. If they do try anything, it’ll be only as a scare tactic.) Dean crosses over to the very-small-sea and gestures for Castiel.

He pushes up to meet him, gripping the glass-wall’s edge. Dean holds his shoulders as he coughs the water from his lungs. He pushes Castiel’s hair back off his forehead. (I want to promise you that I won’t let them do anything to you and that I’ll keep you safe, but I’ve been saying that since the beginning and I’ve been complete shit at it.)

Castiel doesn’t like the self-loathing that leaks into the kin-connection before Dean snaps up the walls around his mind to hide them. He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth before leaning in to press his face against Dean’s neck.

(You have your family to worry about. There’s no way you can keep all of us safe.) He fits his arms around Dean’s chest, clutching at the back of his shirt. (Your family comes first. I understand that.)

(But you already got the short end of the stick with this shitty situation Sammy dragged you into, you shouldn’t be put on the backburner because of it.)

Castiel noses the soft skin under his ear. (You can’t protect everyone, Dean.)

The growl in Dean’s throat mirrors the disapproval that burns through the kin-connection. (It’s just – I wish I could. But we’re so out manned and out gunned and I’ve thought it over from every fucking angle and I still don’t see how we could come out on top without stealing a damn lifeboat and I don’t even know how we can get away with that without any casualties. It’s not fucking fair and even with what Dad taught me, I have no goddamn idea what to do.)

Dean’s hug gets tighter and Castiel touches at his thoughts, skirting the walls that keep most of Dean’s emotions hidden from him. He can feel snatches of Dean’s anger, his confusion and concern. They echo his own. Castiel doesn’t know what to expect later and he’s worried about what Lilith might do to Dean and the others as punishment for the escape.

When Dean suddenly stands straighter, Castiel has to tighten his hold as he’s lifted from the water. He’s confused and surprised as Dean drags him over the glass-wall and carries him to the bed. He has to flatten his fans against his back when Dean drops him over the blankets.

(Dean?)

(I said that the kissing trial period was only for last night.) Dean sits over Castiel, knees on either side of his tail. (Do you still want to keep at it?)

He stares up at Dean, his tail twitching over the bed behind him. Does he want to stop? Could he stop? Would he really be able to stop kissing Dean now, knowing that Dean wants him? That Dean wants to kiss him too?

He nods and the relief dancing along the edges of the kin-connection is not just his own.

 Dean presses his fingers to the mark over his pulse point. (Lilith’s going to be really pissed about this.)

Castiel’s adipose fins ripple, rustling against the bedding. He hadn’t thought about that and he reaches up to touch the purple-red bruise darkening the center of Dean’s throat. A fluttery panic pushes at his lungs and, not for the first time, Castiel doesn’t know what to do. If Lilith will be mad at Dean for marking him, how might she react knowing that he marked Dean?

His hand slips to the blue-white cast encasing Dean’s left forearm. What if someone hurts Dean again? What if they separate them? Lilith was mad enough with just the kiss, but then she had said she didn’t care and they could do what they want. But she’s so unpredictable.

Dean leans down and presses a hard kiss to Castiel’s mouth. (Calm down. You’ve got your ace in the hole. If they try anything, you can mind fuck them into next week.)

Castiel’s anxiety disperses under the insistent push of Dean’s tongue and his hand drifting over his stomach. (I don’t know if they’ll let me go with you this time, but you stay in my head, okay? Don’t you cut me out for anything. I want to know everything they’re doing.)

He doesn’t understand why Dean would think he would sever the kin-connection. Castiel jerks from the kiss in surprise when Dean’s fingers move over his chest in teasing little circles. He presses, traces, pinches and rubs. Each small touch drags a sharp gasp from Castiel and he arches into the touch, scrabbling at Dean’s shoulders, trying to find something to hold onto.

The end of his tail smacks into the drawers, the crash of it startling them both.

Dean grins against his lips. (See? Does it make sense now why I liked that yesterday?)

Castiel drops his hand to cover Dean’s, stopping his fingers and holding it flat to his chest. He can practically feel the beating of his heart through Dean’s hand. He’s conflicted. He wants this but he doesn’t want this. He’s craving Dean’s touch and the heat of the hand pressed against his skin. But if he’s allowed more, will he get to have it again?

He doesn’t know if he can stand having anything beyond this now but never again.

Dean pauses, sitting back slightly. (Cas? What’s wrong?)

(I – I can’t. Please.)

Disappointment curls beneath the understanding. Dean presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. (You’re not ready yet?)

Castiel shakes his head and drags Dean back into a kiss. He doesn’t want to stop the kissing, and if he could leave more marks under Dean’s shirt or on his neck, he would very much like to do that again. Dean stretches out over him and tucks his hands under Castiel’s shoulders. The kisses stay slow and sweet with a gentle swipe of tongue every so often.

They stop only when the rumble of Castiel’s stomach makes Dean slide to one side and pull away with a laugh. Castiel tries dragging him back, hooking his tail over Dean’s hip. He gets more laughter for his efforts.

(You haven’t eaten since supper yesterday and you barely ate that. I’ve gotta go to the washroom and get my own food and you should eat too.) Dean pushes up and tries to unfold Castiel’s tail. He only holds on tighter. (Seriously. Every time, Cas? C’mon. I’ll be right back.)

(I want more kisses.) Castiel pulls at his shirt. (Dean. Please.)

Amusement and acquiescence flicker through the kin-connection and Dean dips his head to meet Castiel half way. He fixes his arm around Dean’s shoulders and pulls him back until they’re laying flat again. A purr rumbles in Castiel’s chest and Dean strokes a thumb over the scales on his cheek. When he tries to pull away again, Castiel nips as softly as possible at his bottom lip. It earns him a pleased groan and Dean presses forward again, tongue tasting deep.

Castiel makes a note that Dean likes that.

(Cas, we’ve gotta – I’ll be back in just a few minutes.)Dean traces his hand down Castiel shoulder, along his side and over his tail. He tugs lightly at Castiel’s adipose fin. (It’ll be faster if you wait here and nothing is going to happen. I can call Sam or someone back up here while I’m gone, if you want.)

(I want –)

(More kisses, yeah, I know. And I’m more than happy to provide – but seriously. Bathroom. Food. You’re hungry, I know you are.)

Castiel grumbles, uncurling slowly. Dean crawls over him to get off the bed and Castiel glowers at him while he puts on his boots. He checks the pockets of his other pants before checking the top drawer. After a few moments of searching, he steps away with the white rectangle that unlocks the doors. He also has a string in his fist.

When he gives Dean the image of the string and his confusion, Dean unfolds his fist and holds out what is actually a necklace. Castiel sits up to inspect the pendant closely. It’s a small gold face with horns.

(Sammy gave it to me when we were kids. I don’t wear it when I’m on shift because it could get caught in the machinery, and with everything that’s been going on with you and Lilith, I completely forgot about it.) He slips the string over his head and it hangs a hand span under his clavicle. (That feels better. Kinda felt naked without it.)

Dean moves the bucket with the dead grey fish in it closer to the bed. (Make as big a mess as you want. I’m going to have to change the sheets anyway since they’re kinda wet now. I’ll be back in just a moment, I swear.)

Castiel tries not to sulk when Dean leaves. He keeps a hold on the kin-connection and settles in the corner of the bed by the drawers. According to Dean, many people keep looking at his neck and Castiel’s very obvious mark. It sends a pleased, possessive feeling to settle hot in his chest.

A few times, Dean shows him what he sees while waiting in line for food in the big room with the many ledges and low ledges. Castiel sees all the many foods that are lined up in silver containers behind a glass wall.

People wearing white down their fronts put the food in a square container. Dean asks for extra of the French fries and Castiel’s fans flex excitedly. Dean promises to share with him as long as Castiel doesn’t eat enough to make his stomach hurt again. The tone of Dean’s words is teasing and Castiel flicks at his mind in retaliation.

Castiel picks up the book that he was reading yesterday and opens it to a random page. He sounds his way through a block of text that, if the picture of the sea-giant next to it means anything, is about them. It’s a breed Castiel has never seen before; a sea-giant of black and white. He traces the image and wonders if humans have sea-giants in cages too. When he turns the page, his question is answered. It’s a much larger small-sea than his own.

The door beeps while Castiel is reading aloud from that page. Dean stops in the door and grins. (Say that again.)

(Say what?)

(What you were just reading.)

Castiel blinks at him for a moment before looking down at the page again. “Tuh-chh-uh mm-o-s-tuh fff-aye-mm-o-uh-sss kay-ill-er wuh-aye-lee-ss aye-rrr-ee –”

Dean snickers and waves his free hand. (Stop, stop. Did you forget that letter combinations change the way they sound?)

He frowns down at the book. Yes, he had forgotten. (Then how is that supposed to sound?)

“The most famous killer whales are –”

Castiel closes the book with a snap and drops it back on top of the drawers. (After we eat can we try writing instead? Can we spell my name?)

(We could try.) Dean sits next to him and Castiel retrieves a few fish from the bucket before they settle with their backs to the wall.

Castiel stretches his tail over the edge of the bed and idly swishes it side to side while they eat. He offers Dean some of his fish in exchange for some French fries, but Dean immediately turns him down, wrinkling his nose at the bones and flesh. He shares his the fries anyway. When Castiel licks his hands clean of the salt and the fish, Dean offers his own and wiggles his fingers, a teasing grin pulling at his lips.

He stares at Dean’s twitching fingers. Castiel knows exactly what Dean is asking, and he knows that doing that would be considered something sexual. Dean had said previously that he thought that cleaning his fingers this way was sexy. Doing this, cleaning Dean’s hands with his lips and tongue, it shouldn’t be any worse than placing his marks on Dean’s skin, especially in such a visible place, but it’s still different.

It’s different enough to make his heart race and his skin to prickle and his breath to skitter hard through his lungs.

Dean laughs and his hand drops. Castiel catches him around the wrist and lifts his hand back up. The amusement tripping pleasantly through the kin-connection falls away into a heated, pulsing anticipation. Castiel licks at his fingers, trailing his tongue down to the dip between each one. He sucks softly at the skin between thumb and index.

His side-fans twitch at the slick sound of Dean licking his lips and Castiel catches the sharp inhale when he slides his lips over Dean’s middle finger and sucks at the taste still clinging to his skin. His chest hurts with how little he’s breathing and how hard his heart is beating. Dean swallows audibly when Castiel cleans the rest of his fingers and moves on to his other hand. It’s more difficult with the blue-white cast in the way, but Dean still makes the soft gasping noise when he’s teeth press against the pads of his fingers.

Castiel can feel heat rising in his face and he sits back without looking at Dean when he’s done. He can make an educated guess at what Dean will look like and if he sees it, he’s not sure what will happen. He draws his tail up and folds it against his chest. He rests his chin on the bend of it.

(That was… Wow. Thanks. I wasn’t actually expecting you to do it.)

He makes a small noise that could be a laugh but he’s not really sure if it is. (Neither was I.)

(We should… we should clean up. Yeah, clean up. And, um, brush our teeth.)

Castiel sends a pulse of disdain through the kin-connection. The mint is refreshing, but he dislikes the coppery taste of his own blood when the toothbrush makes his gums bleed. He flares his fans unhappily when Dean stands and gets a bucket from the corner under the wall-ledge where he dumps his empty white container. He brings it over for Castiel to put the bones of his fish in and he leaves it next to him.

It’s where Castiel spits the foaming toothpaste after he’s done brushing his teeth to Dean’s satisfaction. Dean puts the toothbrush and toothpaste away and starts to tidy the area. Castiel rubs his tongue over the smooth faces of his teeth and breathes the scent of the mint.

After he’s done cleaning up, Dean brings one of the chairs over and Castiel slips from the bed to it. He holds his tail out of the way while Dean pushes him to the ledge. Dean pulls up the other chair and sits next to him. From a few drawers under the ledge, he gets the short sticks he calls ‘pens’ and a handful of the white rectangles he calls ‘paper’.

He spreads them out before them and twiddles the pen between his fingers. When he speaks, it’s with his throat voice, but he translates the words through the kin-connection.  “So your name is pronounced Castiel, right?”

“Cas-tee-elle.” He nods, leaning closer when Dean puts the end of the pen to the paper.

“Okay. So there are a few letters to choose to start your name. C or K.” He writes them both, one above the other. “And the ‘as’ is easy enough to figure out.” Dean adds an ‘a’ and an ‘s’ after the ‘C’ and the ‘K’.”

Castiel looks from the paper and up at Dean while he chews on the other end of the pen. “And I guess the ‘t’ comes next. But should it be an ‘i’ or an ‘e’ that follows that?” He writes down the ‘Kast’ and the ‘Cast’ again and after each one he adds either letter. There are four lines on the sheet now and Castiel watches as Dean adds more variations ending in ‘el’ or ‘elle’.

“I think that’s all of them.” Dean sits back and rubs a hand through his hair. “Well that’s about all the different ways we can spell your name phonetically. So, uh, I guess you just pick whichever one looks best?”

Castiel takes the paper and he scrutinizes the list. There are a few that he likes the look of, but he holds the list out to Dean. (Which do you like?)

Dean doesn’t hesitate to point. “That one. It just… feels right.”

He puts the paper down and nods. “C-A-S-T-I-E-L. Good.” Castiel turns his smile to Dean and holds out his hand for the pen. “Please?”

Carefully, Dean puts the pen in Castiel’s hand and folds his fingers around it in the proper way to hold it. He has to move it further down in Castiel’s fingers than he holds it himself because of Castiel’s claws. The end of it pushes uncomfortably against the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, but Castiel ignores it as Dean wraps his hand around his and moves it to the paper.

Under Dean’s guidance, they spell out Castiel’s name again before Dean lets him try on his own. It’s much more shaky and uneven when Castiel does it alone. After the fifth time, Castiel is more sure with the movement. With another pen, Dean writes out the whole alphabet in both uppercase and lowercase and he passes the paper to Castiel to copy out beneath it.

(How do I write your name?)

“D-E-A-N.”

Castiel carefully writes out the few letters and his adipose fans ripple happily when Dean pats his arm as praise. He gets a squeeze to his shoulder when he writes out Sam’s name without having to ask how to spell it. But he stumbles on Jess’s name, using the ‘G’ and only one ‘s’. When Dean writes out ‘Jessica’, Castiel learns that is her full name and that ‘Jess’ is her nickname like ‘Cas’ is his.

They determine together how to spell Castiel’s nest-siblings names and Castiel writes their names over and over in the smallest letters he can make on a single sheet of paper. Dean does what he calls ‘doodles’, where he draws random images, like swirls and something he calls a ‘pie’ and ‘stick figures’. One of the doodles takes the shape of Castiel’s glow pattern.

Dean shows him a game called ‘tic-tac-toe’. He draws two lines horizontally, and two lines vertically, both intersecting the horizontal lines. It sort of forms nine squares in three rows of three squares. The premise of the game is simple enough. One person draws ‘x’s and one draws ‘o’s. Whoever gets three in a row either horizontally, vertically or diagonally, wins the game.

Castiel stares at the squares for a few minutes, much to Dean’s exasperation, before he places his circle in the center square. Dean places his ‘x’ in the left center square. His next ‘o’ goes in the bottom right corner. Before Dean puts his mark, he squints at the paper and frowns at it as he places his ‘x’ in the top left corner to prevent Castiel from winning.

His back-fans flex in amusement and Castiel puts his ‘o’ in the bottom left to stop Dean from winning. He grins at Dean while he looks at the paper. Dean shoves it away with a soft snort of derision. (Beginners luck.)

(Strategy. I’m a skilled tactician, Dean.) There is more than a little bit of pride colouring his thoughts  and Castiel straightens his shoulders. (If I was more familiar with boats and all the many different weapons humans have, I would be of more help with planning an escape.)

(But Lilith is so fucking paranoid that any time I think we’ve found an advantage, she’s got something to contradict it and I just – how the hell are we supposed to even –) He makes a frustrated noise and his movements as he draws the tic-tac-toe lines again are sharp and vicious. Dean puts his ‘x’ in the center first and pushes the page over in front of Castiel.

Castiel wins again.

He wins the next four games until Dean steals all the paper and draws rows of dots over an entire page. Castiel watches, amused and intrigued, while Dean explains the point of the game is to take turns drawing lines between dots on the grid. They use different coloured pens for it. Castiel gets blue and Dean takes red. The person who completes the fourth line of a square gets to put their initial in the center of the box. Whoever has the most boxes at the end wins the game.

It takes a long time for them to finish because Dean drew so many dots.

Castiel wins again.

Dean crumples the paper and tosses it into the bucket with the remnants of their food in it. He crosses his arms over his chest and slouches back in his chair, glaring hard at the papers spread across the ledge. He sits forward again and draws a square. Inside the square he draws several lines that create more little squares. Over each column, he draws the first eight symbols from the clock, starting with the single straight up-down line. At the start of the rows, he writes the letters A through H.

Dean passes the paper to Castiel and repeats the drawing on another paper. On a third paper, he draws a long rectangle that he breaks into four squares, another that he breaks into three, another into two squares, and just one single square.

(Don’t show me your sheet and don’t look at mine. Now place those four shapes somewhere on your grid and don’t tell me where.) Dean folds his arm around his paper and presses his head into the crook of his elbow to protect his page while he carries out his own instructions.

Castiel does the same, angling his paper away from Dean as he outlines the squares where he wants his pieces to go. When they’re both done, Dean covers his grid with his hand and sits back. (Now what we do is say which square we want to hit. If you want the top left, it’s A-1. Bottom right is H-8. Okay?) He nods and Dean continues. (Draw an ‘x’ through the squares named. If one of the squares I pick falls inside one of those shapes you drew, you colour in that square. When all the squares for that shape are full, that means I sunk your ship.)

(These rectangles are supposed to represent boats?) Castiel raises his eyebrow, looking down and tilting his head. The rectangles look nothing like the shape of a boat.

(Yeah. This game is called ‘Battleship’. I’ll start. E-3.)

Castiel puts a mark through the empty square and stares at his grid. He thinks about Dean and what he knows of him, of how he acts and thinks. His first two guesses are misses, but the third, fourth and fifth all hit. He sinks Dean’s single square.

Dean sinks his two-square boat.

He’s in the process of sinking what could be Dean’s three-square or four-square boat when the pocket of his top-shirt starts making beeping noises like the door. He flips his paper over and sits back. The beeping is coming from his phone, not the shirt itself. Dean flips it open and the longer he looks at the screen, the deeper his frown gets.

Anger swarms into the kin-connection and it’s choked with uneasiness. He snaps the phone shut and looks up at Castiel. (Lilith’s helicopter was just spotted. She’s going to be dropped off soon.)

Castiel’s fans flare and he immediately looks toward the door. (Is she coming to us right away?)

(We don’t know.) Dean rubs both hands through his hair before resting his elbows on the ledge and holding his head in his hands. (We should have been working on getting out and we were playing games.)

(I was.)

Dean tilts his head to look at him sideways. (What?)

(I liked the games. They were fun. And while we were playing, I was thinking.) Castiel shifts on the chair, his tail curling around the base in the opposite direction. (Azazel did what I asked because I was attacking his mind. It’ll be difficult, but I should be able to do the same to multiple people at the same time. If I can incapacitate Gordon and Alistair, I could get Lilith to let us all go – you and Sam and the others in a lifeboat with supplies and me into the sea.)

Dean stares at him for several moments, surprise and disbelief ringing through their link. Without warning he stands and sends his chair skittering back to knock against the wall of the very-small-sea. He cups Castiel’s face and he’s grinning into the hard push of a kiss.

(Goddamn! You’re fucking awesome!) He presses kiss after kiss to Castiel’s lips and all he can really do is grip Dean’s arms until he’s done. (If you do that, if we get offa this nightmare tonight, that’ll just be so –) He stops and his feelings vanish from the kin-connection, sucked behind the walls around his mind again.

Castiel wishes he didn’t know why Dean was staring down at him while the emotion drains from his face. He wishes he wasn’t feeling the suffocating press of dread curling tight around his chest. He wishes he wasn’t feeling the regret twisting hard in his throat.

Right now, before Lilith arrives, this could be one of the last moments he gets to spend with Dean. He has no guarantee that his plan will work. And if it does he has no way of knowing if he’ll have any time with Dean between his attack and their escape.

He reaches up and Dean needs no coercion to lean back down. Castiel is rough and desperate with the kiss. He thinks he might taste blood and he must have bitten or cut Dean’s lip with his teeth but Dean hasn’t stopped him and he’s not going to. He holds tight when Dean slips his right arm under the bend of his tail over the chair’s edge, and his other around Castiel’s back.

Dean lifts him and Castiel wraps his tail around Dean’s waist. It’s a staggered walk to Dean’s bed. He stumbles into his abandoned chair, the wall of the very-small-sea, and the drawers at the end of his bed. Dean turns and drops backward onto it, barely sitting before he’s collapsing back to lay with Castiel above him.

Castiel sends his displeasure into the link when Dean breaks the kiss with a final suck to his tongue. Dean still isn’t sharing his emotions and he does nothing to soothe Castiel’s irritation with anything beyond the press and slide of his lips and tongue over the stubbled line of his jaw. He doesn’t know what Dean’s intentions are, but he doesn’t think there’s anything Dean could do right now that could be bad.

He tilts his head back and hums in approval as Dean kisses along his neck, over his gills and down the slope of his shoulder. He tongues at the spine of his back-fan and the scales surrounding its base. Castiel isn’t entirely certain where exactly Dean opens his mouth, but his fans flare when he starts to suck another mark against his skin.

Castiel bites his lip to stifle the little sounds that keep clawing from his throat. He jerks in surprise when Dean’s hand fumbles against his chin and fingers push at his lips. He opens to the insistent touch and two fingers press in over his tongue.

(Don’t you dare stop those sounds.) Dean scrapes his teeth across  Castiel’s collarbone again and he kisses at the hollow of his throat. (I want to hear you, Cas.)

He whimpers around Dean’s fingers and his fins ripple wildly when Dean dips his head and presses his tongue over one of his nipples. His tail keeps curling and uncurling over Dean’s legs. He twitches again, and tries – fails – to stifle his cry when Dean actually bites. It’s not hard, it’s not painful. It’s surprising. The sharp burn of heat through his veins is almost more than he can bear and he thinks, briefly, of telling Dean to stop.

He doesn’t.

Castiel groans Dean’s name around his fingers and he can actually feel the shudder that shakes through Dean’s body. He pulls his fingers free and Castiel barely manages to lick his lips before Dean is kissing him insistently. There’s something pushing at the kin-connection, but it’s not substantial. It’s pushing out from inside the walls around Dean’s mind and he knows there are things Dean is thinking that he’s not sharing, but there’s an anticipation twisting before them. Like Dean wants to share them, but he’s holding back.

It’s too hard to focus on that when Dean keeps curling and flicking and licking and stroking with his tongue and his lips and his hands never hold still. Castiel’s arms are starting to shake with trying to keep holding himself up.

Dean’s phone starts beeping again. And they both groan in disappointment. It’s Castiel who pulls away first. He waits until Dean gets the phone out of his pocket before he lets his arms give out and he falls against him. He’s struggling to catch his breath, his face pressed to the curve of Dean’s shoulder. Dean is panting too.

He hears the click of the phone being opened and he feels how Dean tenses under him.

(She’s here.)