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For the Good of the Team	By : OpenPage Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 462 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters from it. Full disclaimer below.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer:
I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
No copyright infringement is intended.
Based on the TV series Supernatural.

For my beautiful friend, Bea. I'm so sorry my last fic made you cry. I hope this makes up for it. Huggles!

Bright sunlight streamed in through the curtainless window, dawn's early morning rays suffusing Dean's lids with an orange glow.
Forcing his eyelids open, the young hunter squinted against the harsh light. Disorientated, he blinked rapidly several times before his eyes focused on the shadowy figure standing beside him.
"Hello."
The oh-so familiar greeting brought an irritated pout to Dean's lips. He was not in the mood to deal with Castiel's weird personality traits. However, when he caught a glimpse of the angel's passive expression, he fought through his exasperation and managed a weak smile. "Hey, Castiel. How's it hanging?"
A frown creased Castiel's brow. "I don't know what that means."
Dean struggled to an upright position. "Of course you don't, Cas. You never do."
Cocking his head to one side, Castiel studied Dean's pallid face. "You look weak."
"Do I? Peachy."
"Peachy?"
The hunter waved a dismissive hand. "Forget it."
"What can I do?" Castiel asked.
"Nothing."
"Nothing is not an answer. As you know, I can do many things. Great things."
"Yeah? Well, asking what you can do is a stupid question, so why don't you—"
"But isn't 'what can I ḍo?' the correct question to ask when someone is sick or possibly dying?"
"For fuck's sake, Cas, I'm really not in the mood for your... What? Dying?"
Unmoved by the slight edge of panic in Dean's voice, Castiel continued talking. "I could make soup."
Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Soup?"
"Chicken soup. Isn't that what humans eat when they're sick?"
"Do you know how to make chicken soup?"
"Doesn't it come from a can?"
There was no humour in the statement. As was the angel's way, he responded only with what he believed to be fact.
Desperate to be rid of the annoying being, Dean forced himself to stay polite. "Sure. Chicken soup sounds great. But, um, Cas. Please take your time."
When Castiel disappeared, Dean flopped back on the mattress. But his solitude was short-lived. Within seconds, the angel returned, a bowl grasped tightly in his hands. "Here," the angel muttered, presenting the soup without ceremony.
Struggling to a sitting position, Dean peered into the proffered bowl. The large chunk of coagulated soup laying on its side was still very obviously in the shape of the can.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean silently counted to ten before speaking. "You're supposed to heat the soup, Castiel."
"I did not know that."
Too tired to explain the beneficial uses of a microwave, Dean faked a yawn. "I'm tired."
"Then I shall let you rest."
When the angel remained standing next to his bed, Dean took a moment to calm his frustration before speaking in a tight voice. "Um, Cas. We talked about this. Personal space. Remember? Go hover over someone else."
"Dean," Castiel replied in a serious voice. "Despite what humans may think, angels do not hover."
Dean opened his mouth, then quickly closed it again. A response was futile. Not because he didn't have a retort, but because in his heart, he knew whatever he said, the celestial being standing next to him would somehow misinterpret his words. He no longer tried to analyse the whys and wherefores. It was just how it was. However, that didn't explain why an angel was left in charge of his well-being, and he briefly wondered who had assigned Castiel nurse duty. After all, he was only getting over the hangover from his vampirism, the effects of which hardly warranted the intervention of an angel's magical healing powers.
Several uncomfortable minutes passed before an idea formed in the young hunter's mind. It probably wasn't the best idea, but act now and worry about the consequences later was his style, and for the most part, his hunches paid off. Unlike his brother Sam, who was all about logical thinking and dogged research. Except that was no longer entirely true. Since returning from Lucifer's cage, Sam had changed…a lot. But Dean didn't have the energy to think about that unsettling situation, and so he returned his attention to his current problem.
"Um, Cas?"
"Yes."
Dean beckoned him with his fingers. "Come here."
Without question, Castiel stepped toward the bed, the bowl of cold soup still clutched in his hands.
"Closer," Dean murmured. "I want to tell you something."
Curious, Castiel leaned forward until his and Dean's faces were mere inches apart.
Green eyes met blue, the intensity shining from the latter's pupils causing a hitch in the young hunter's chest. Without warning, his heart began to hammer…baboom…baboom…baboom, the adrenaline pumping through his body sending delicious shockwaves up and down his spine.
Shaken by the intense feelings snaking through his body, Dean immediately told himself it was the after-effect of the vampire blood coursing through his veins, but deep down he knew it was a lie. No matter how many times he tried, there was no denying the bond he and Castiel shared. Yes, it was a strange, often uncomfortable bond, but it was a bond nonetheless…a bond that was becoming rather too familiar.
Stubbornly ignoring the unexpected warmth snaking over his skin, Dean placed his palms on either side of the angel's face. Afraid his actions might change things forever, he took one last lingering look at the beautiful visage floating above him. A delightful stirring in his groin had him briefly re-evaluating his plan. But only briefly. There was no turning back, and no time for regrets. It was now or never, and closing his eyes, he pressed his mouth against the unsuspecting angel's lips and massaged the warm flesh with a slow, gentle kiss. Consciously, he imagined Lisa's full bowed lips quivering against his mouth. Unconsciously, he savoured every moment of the brief connection with the angel, who, for the most part, drove him batshit crazy.
After several seconds of brief contact, Dean regretfully—unconsciously, of course—pulled away. Castiel remained bent forward, the forgotten bowl in his hands tilting precariously toward the floor. Slowly, the angel straightened up, confusion shining from his cobalt eyes. Lifting a hand, he lightly trailed a shaky fingertip over his lower lip. Ten seconds passed..twenty…the deafening silence hanging like a foggy veil throughout the tiny room…a tiny room now charged with electricity.
But just when Dean thought he would suffocate in the stillness, the sound of Castiel's dark, sultry voice broke through the fog. "Thank you," he murmured before vanishing from the room.
A mischievous smile played over Dean's lips, and snuggling down beneath the covers, he closed his eyes.
If kissing Castiel was the secret to shutting him up or making him leave, he was more than willing to sacrifice his heterosexuality again. After all, he lied to himself, he wouldn't be planting a big ol' sloppy kiss on the annoying angel for his own sexual gratification. He would be doing it for the good of the team.
He would only be doing it for the good of the team.
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For the Good of the Team