Take Care of My Baby

Dean and Cas, for all of their frustrations, have done well returning to their usual state of camaraderie by the weekend. Cas is finished with his exams, so he has more freetime on his hands than he's used to, and he spends a good majority of it with Dean at Bobby's. It's nice just to watch and listen to Dean's mind-wandering rambles and give him a hand with the few things he knows how to help with.

"Whattya want for dinner tonight?" Dean asks absently from beneath the hood of the car he's working on. "I was thinkin' of makin' tacos."

"Dean."

"What?"

"You've made tacos three times in the past two weeks."

Dean looks over at the wall with a brow furrowed in though, still leaning over the engine. He ponders for a moment, nods, and says, "Huh."

"I am capable of cooking, Dean," Cas says with his signature almost-smile. "You certainly seemed to enjoy it the last time I did. I do not understand why you insist on doing it yourself."

Dean doesn't get a chance to respond, as Bobby is walking into Dean's workspace, a worried look on his face.

"Hey, Bobby. Need somethin'?" Dean asks.

"That Dick Roman kid stopped by lookin' fer you," Bobby says.

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Yeah? What'd you tell him?"

"Said you're busy workin', and he best get his disruptin' ass outta my shop 'fore I show him the way out myself."

The man stares incredulously at his boss for a moment before bursting out into a bout of deep, resonating laughter that has Cas joining in, and even Bobby cracks a smile. "Dammit, Bobby, you're freakin' great."

"Yeah, yeah." Bobby rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. "He wanted me to leave ya a message. Said that you should meet him at The Roadhouse tonight if ya ain't a chicken."

At that, Dean sobers up. Finally, it's here. The race that everyone's been blabbing on about for months... it's here. He finds himself studying the engine of the car before him as if it'll help to qualm the conflicting emotions within him. He hasn't been this nervous for a race since he first started, but for some reason, the though of racing Dick has his stomach twisting into knots.

"Ya all right there, son?" Bobby asks softly, and the man in question just about jumps to find Bobby standing next to him.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Ya ain't actually thinkin' 'bout racin' this idjit, are ya?" he asks incredulously.

"Bobby, I have to," Dean spits through clenched teeth.

"You have to, my ass," the older man spits in the way he does when Dean's doing something stupid. "Dean, this kid is bad news. He's itchin' to whoop your ass six ways from Sunday, and I ain't sure he's just lookin' to do it on the road."

"Look, I know-"

"If you know so damn well, then you wouldn't be racin' him!" Bobby exclaims. At that, Dean's fingers tighten on the body of the car, an almost undetectable motion for someone who doesn't actually know him. Bobby does catch it, though, and he softens his tone. "I know you think you got somethin' to prove, but riskin' your life ain't worth this, Dean."

"I'm not riskin' my life, Bobby. He's blowin' smoke out his ass, and I don't give one good goddamn if he's dangerous, 'cause I can take him. On the road or off." Dean finally finds the composure to meet Bobby's hard gaze. He sets his jaw and lifts his chin with a confidence he's practiced faking for years.

Bobby just shakes his head and says, "Yeah, well. Don't say I didn't warn ya," before walking away and muttering something under his breath that sounds something similar to, "damn stubborn idjit kids".

It stings to have someone so important to him scorn him so visibly, but Dean doesn't betray his emotions. He just sets to work on the car before him, trying to forget the look of dismay on Bobby's face. And he certainly doesn't dare to see what sort of disapproving look Cas is shooting his way.

Had he looked, he would have found Cas's expression to be more worried than anything else. The man understands Dean's desire - his need - to race Dick Roman, and he isn't the kind of person to be disappointed when someone doesn't do as he would. That doesn't stop him from feeling the anxiety that perhaps something isn't right.

Cas opts not to mention it again now. He knows that Dean is dealing with a lot of people who seem to be suddenly disillusioned in his racing capabilities, and he doesn't want to add to the stress. He will, he supposes, mention something after their meeting with Dick Roman, should things look particularly menacing.

Instead, he just lets Dean work his emotions out on today's vehicle and is lucky enough to see the tension melt from Dean as he sorts out whatever it is that's spinning around in his head.

__________

At four o'clock, Bobby tells both boys to get the hell outta his shop and find something better to do, and by then, Dean is back to his usual self, all charming smiles and jokes to his coworkers.

"Think we'll head home 'fore we go to The Roadhouse," Dean says to Cas as they climb into the Coupe. "Dick did say to meet him tonight, and it ain't even night yet, so I don't see the rush."

"I quite like your plan," Cas tell him with a soft smile.

They don't talk for most of the way home, mainly because Dean belts out the songs on the radio especially loud in hope of making Cas laugh. It's obviously a front for the man's insecurity, and that's confirmed when he snaps off the radio as they drive through town, staring at the road like he's got a personal vendetta against it.

"Cas, I've been thinkin'," he starts out.

"That's never a good sign."

Dean looks over with a genuine grin and pushes Cas playfully. "Look at you, Mr. Smart Aleck over here."

"What can I say? I learned from the best." He pauses just long enough to let the mood settle into something not quite so silly. "What were you thinking?"

"I was... I know you don't like racin' and that just my regular drivin' freaks you out sometimes, but..." Dean sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. Talking things out isn't his strong point, but he needs to make his point. "You make me feel like I can take on the world, Cas. And I would be honored if you'd ride with me when I race Roman."

The proposal takes a moment for Cas to digest. Racing with someone is something usually reserved for the racer's sweetheart, or it's done to impress someone. Cas knows that Dean is asking more than just the main question; Dean is asking if Cas would be willing to take one more step toward making their relationship public.

"Dean..."

"That was a stupid question. Forget I asked." Dean's jaw is clenched tight, his tone tense. He fears the worst in this situation, and he'd much rather get no answer than hear Cas tell him no.

"Enough with the self-deprecation, Dean. I'm not going to tell you know because I'm ashamed of you." Cas's eyes are narrowed accusingly, and the strength behind his words could give Dean a run for his money. "The only issue is the fact that I've rarely felt comfortable while in a vehicle, and racing increases the danger factor exponentially."

"But you'll be with me, Cas. You trust me, don't you?" the older man asks. He knows he's being petulant, can feel the pout as it tugs down the corners of his lips, but he can't be bothered to do anything about that.

"Of course I trust you, Dean. However, I do not trust Dick."

"Yeah, well. I'll race better with you there."

Cas just gives him that long-suffering look, obviously torn between wanting to be there to support Dean and his fear of the race. It's a few long moments before he finally opens his mouth to say softly, "Okay."

"Okay? You'll do it?" Dean grins and looks over at the younger man, his entire body visibly brightening.

"Yes, I'll do it."

Dean heaves out a breath of relief that he didn't know he'd been holding. "Goddamn. That means a hell of a lot, Cas."

Cas offers a half-hearted smile in Dean's direction as a gesture that he knows the depth of what they've just agreed on, but he says nothing more, and Dean feels a bit guilty that he used such low measures to make Cas agree to something he didn't want to.

"Hey," he murmurs softly, reaching over to place a steady hand on Cas's leg as he pulls into their driveway. "If you decide you don't wanna do it later, I won't be mad."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Dean."

The man in question smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I need to take a shower. You wanna whip somethin' up for dinner?" He pauses to waggle his eyebrows. "Or would you rather join me?"

Finally, Cas brightens enough to roll his eyes. "You're shameless."

"So is that a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes. On both counts."

__________

Dean and Cas roll into The Roadhouse at a few minutes past six. They had both planned over Cas's spaghetti dinner that they'd show up as late as possible in hopes of making Dick Roman absolutely furious, but as it turned out, neither of them could wait that long to find out what was going on. Curiosity killed the cat, and it certainly got the best of the Winchester-Novak household.

"Ho-ly shit," Dean whistles reverently as they find their usual spot. The place is dead, which is completely unheard of on a Friday evening. He wonders if that was Ellen's doing, upon hearing of the racer's meeting, or if it was Dick Roman, scaring everyone away.

As it stands, Dick's car is one car space away from Dean's, and the man is leaning on the hood, arms crossed over his chest with a smug grin splitting his face. The asshole still has that look about him, like he's candy-coated shit. He's flanked on both sides by two men whose names no one seems to have caught, but they both stand by Dick like he's a god and they're mere worshipers.

Dean and Cas share a quick look before they both exit the Coupe. They both head for the front of their car as well, with Dean leaning gently against the grille and Cas standing a bit stiffly next to him.

"Well, well, well," Dick sneers. "I see you're still suckin' cock with this little faggot."

"I see you still brought along your same ol' insults," Dean shoots back. "Tell me, do you really think I'm suckin' cock, or are you just tryin' to make yourself feel better?"

"You think you're cute, Winchester?"

"I think I'm adorable."

Dick lets loose one of his condescending smiles. "Lets cut the crap, shall we?"

"By all means." Dean uses one of his hands and motions toward Dick.

"I want another race, Winchester."

"Cool, another chance to kick your ass," Dean says with all the self-assurance he can muster. "When?"

"Tomorrow night. Nine."

"Usual place?"

"Usual place."

Dean nods his head in agreement at the terms. "Anything else?"

"No. I don't want anything special. Just a fair chance to show you that you ain't as hot as you think you are," Dick smiles wickedly.

Dean just laughs and looks down at a pebble that he's pushing around with the toe of his boot.

Dick tilts his head to the side. "Somethin' funny, Winchester?"

"Ah, it's nothin'," Dean snickers. "You're just blowin' so much smoke out your ass that you could power the whole damn Industrial Revolution."

"Aw, look at Dean, proving that he's got a brain in that big ol' head of his," is Dick's only response. "So do we have an agreement?"

"Sure thing," Dean agrees. He steps forward and sticks out his hand to shake. Dick walks up slowly, looking a little unsure of Dean's motives. Still, he doesn't wipe that annoying fuckin' grin off his face, not even when he leans in close to hiss in Dean's ear.

"Mark my words, Winchester. I'll ruin your name, no matter what it takes." His breath is hot against Dean's ear, and Dick glares over the man's shoulder at Cas. The younger man holds his ground and simply glares right back, God-sent fury residing deep in his eyes.

Dean pulls back before the man can say anything else and offers a smile of his own, more mocking than any of Dick's. "Yeah, hotshot. We'll see 'bout that."

They both retreat slowly to their respective cars, not removing their glare from one another. Dick is making his skin fucking crawl with his ominous bullshit, and Dean can't stand it, but he sure as hell won't back down from the challenge. He didn't work for this position for years just to back down from one race.

"I'll be waiting to see you and your boy-toy tomorrow, Winchester," Dick tells him, that same damn mocking smile on his face. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Dean can't come up with a good enough response for the situation, so he just salutes Dick, then flips him off as he and Cas climb back into the Coupe. Dick and his gang don't move as Dean and Cas drive away, but the leader of the pack waves them off as they go.

The air in the car is heavy with the lingering tension from the meeting. It blankets them like a heavy quilt in the middle of summer, and it's so damn stifling that Dean cracks a window. He can feel Cas's eyes raking over his body, the glance full of worry. Dean doesn't turn to meet his gaze. He just keeps his eyes focused on the road.

"Dean, what did Dick say to you?" Cas asks. His tone of voice is commanding and worried at the same time.

Dean shrugs.

"Tell me what he said."

"He, uh, told me that he plans on kicking my ass," Dean tells him. It's a lie, but not completely. Part of ruining his name would be kicking his ass.

Cas stares him down, and the guilt about lying burns holes in Dean's skin. He knows that Cas knows he's not telling the full truth, but the younger man doesn't say anything about it. It isn't worth causing an altercation over. The information doesn't seem particularly crucial; it's enough for Cas to know that Dean doesn't want him to hear it.

"I'm still gonna race him."

"I know."

Dean finally looks over at Cas through the corner of his eyes, a slight smile just beginning to touch his lips. It's only momentary, but he knows that he has to show his appreciation for the man beside him somehow.

They're both too lost in their own thoughts to engage in conversation, but the ride home is blessedly short. Cas and Dean are both on edge, and once the front door closes behind them, Cas decides to work that out productively by grabbing Dean's hips and turning him around so that he can press the both of them into the door.

"Shit," Dean breathes out. All thoughts of Dick Roman are temporarily wiped out of Dean's mind, and he has a feeling Cas knows that he's doing it. Cas has a tendency of doing that, of taking charge when shit gets rough and fucking Dean senseless so that the man has a few moments of peace. Ever since he took charge for the first time, he's been utterly insatiable.

He moves to kiss Cas, but the man twists his fingers into Dean's hair and yanks his head back, exposing Dean's neck to his advances. The younger man takes advantage of the prone position and litters Dean's neck with kisses and bite marks.

Had Cas not gathered Dean's wrists and held them together above his head, the older man is sure that his knees would have given out by now. All he can do in terms of reciprocation for all of Cas's attention is to grind his hips lamely into the man's and utter strings of senseless phrases that he knows Cas loves.

"I want you to feel me tomorrow," Cas growls against the underside of Dean's jaw. "I want everyone to see my marks and know that you belong to me."

"God, Cas," Dean groans. He likes to pride himself on being a master of talking dirty, but put Cas in control, and he acts like he's a fifteen and losing his virginity for the first time.

"Where do you want me to take you, Dean?" he asks. His piercing blue eyes stare straight into Dean's, and it's disorienting.

"Um," Dean says. He just can't figure out how to address a direct question, not when Cas's knee is slowly rubbing against his hardening cock, when the man is looking at him with so much unmasked lust. "Bedroom," he finally gasps out.

Cas catches Dean's bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth momentarily before letting go and dragging the both of them to the bedroom.

As soon as they're inside, Dean finally gets enough sense about himself that he's able to pull Cas in for a messy kiss. They break only to strip of their jackets and shirts before they're nipping at one another's lips and swiping tongues through one another's mouths.

Once they kick off their jeans and underwear in a series of rather uncoordinated motions, Dean decides to take some semblance of control for a few minutes by pushing Cas toward the bed. The man seems a little surprised when the backs of his knees strike the end of the bed, and he falls backward easily with Dean climbing on top of him. Cas slides his hands around to hold onto Dean's hips as the breath is kissed from him. He drags the man's hips down onto his own, the friction of skin on skin absolutely glorious.

"Dean," he finally groans. "You have ten seconds to get on your back."

The older man doesn't question anything when it comes to sex, so he immediately complies to Cas's demand. He rolls over and scrambles farther up the bed. Cas, in turn, is reaching into the nightstand for the lube to slick up his cock.

"Cas," Dean whispers as the man crawls over to him.

Cas supports himself with one hand as he and Dean kiss. The other once again snakes around the man's waist. "Dean, I want to try something new."

"Okay," he breathes. "Okay. What do you want to do?"

The younger man rolls over so that his back is resting against the headboard, and he pulls Dean up so that he's straddling him. One hand finds its way to Dean's cheek, and their gazes are locked once more as Cas murmurs, "This."

"This is good," Dean agrees, nodding. "This is real good."

Cas gets his almost-smile on his face for just a moment before he leans in and kisses the other man. As he does, he gently slides into the other man.

Dean bites back the groan that threatens to escape from his lips. However, Cas does not. The noise that comes out of his mouth is low and guttural, and for a moment, Dean just has to pause and file that one away in his memory.

And then, Cas begins to move, and any attempt at forming a conscious thought that doesn't revolve around the way Cas is grinding into him is eradicated. All of a sudden, he's just scrambling for purchase on Cas's body, looking for somewhere to grab hold of the man's skin and just meld the two of them together for eternity. Dean can't get much more than a fistful of Cas's hair with one hand while the other slides under the man's arm to rest on his back. Their foreheads press together, each gasp from each man mingling together.

"Dean." The name is wrenched from Cas's throat almost unwillingly, and being so, is rough and wrecked. It's one of Dean's favorite fucking sounds. Cas's hands fly up to grip the other man's body. One rests on Dean's bicep, the other on his hip. He's gripping damn tight, too, and if he leaves a bruise, then that's all the better.

Their grasp on each other is tight, and even though Cas isn't going easy on Dean with his thrusts, they don't break apart for longer than a second. Cas is fucking precise, too, making sure to locate and brush against Dean's prostate with every thrust, keeping their bodies pressed close so that Dean's cock gets friction from his abdomen that his hands can't provide.

Neither of them can find words to say; their lung capacity is used for the simple act of their quickened breathing. Wasted air, sweat, and friction gathers in the spaces between them, the spaces held only by the staring of their pleasure-blown eyes. Dean can feel the heat pooling in his stomach, and he knows he won't be lasting much longer. From the way Cas is gripping onto him even tighter, he knows the same is true for the other man.

"Cas, baby," Dean whispers, but the words are nipped from his lips by Cas's teeth, and Dean finds himself grasping the hard planes of the other man's body like they're a life raft in the sea of his chaotic existence.

Cas gives a soft little grunt at that, and it's enough to finally send Dean over the edge. He comes in hot spurts against their chests while babbling out Cas's name over and over, staring straight into the man's eyes. Castiel, for his own part, lets out a completely broken cry and comes moments later with a slack jaw, completely unable to form a single word.

For a few long and blissful moments, they stay just like that as their chests heave in an effort to replenish their spent oxygen.

"We should clean up," Cas says softly, and his voice is deeper and more gravely than usual, and Dean takes pride in knowing that it was his body that ripped all of those glorious noises from the other man's chest.

"Yeah. Yeah, good idea," Dean nods breathlessly.

"Shower?"

"Don't think I can stand up, Cas."

Limbs are extracted from their strongholds in the skin of lovers, and Cas gropes blindly over the edge of the bed for something to wipe the come and sweat from their bodies.

"Cas. Cas, is that my t-shirt?! Don't- ugh."

Dean throws his arms up in defeat as Cas uses yet another one of his t-shirts to clean the both of them. It isn't the most sophisticated way, but Cas has learned to drop away most of his previous conceptions on what and what not to do.

"Always my shirts, man. I'm not gonna have a damn thing left to wear soon," the older man grumbles as Cas uses a clean sleeve to wipe off Dean's forehead with the kind of serious intensity usually reserved for surgeons. "Why's it always my stuff?"

"It was there." And then Cas's lip quirks up just a bit, visible to Dean even in the dark.

"You're lucky you're cute," Dean mumbles, and for his efforts, Cas rewards him with a soft kiss to the forehead.

Finally, they roll apart, and Dean immediately drops onto his pillow and nuzzles down into it with a sigh. When Cas doesn't join him quickly enough, he reaches over and tugs the man down next to him. Castiel wiggles around until he can look into Dean's one open eye.

"Dean, are you going to bed?" he asks with his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Mhm," comes Dean's tired reply.

"It's only eight thirty."

"'M tired, Cas." He throws an arm around Cas's waist and pulls the man closer, his face buried in the other man's hair. "'M tired, and I just wanna stay here with you until Sam or Bobby or someone comes and drags our asses outta bed 'fore I lose my job or somethin'."

Cas chuckles softly and simply settles into the protective warmth of Dean's embrace, wrapping his own arm around the other man as well. Dean is already out like a light, his mouth hanging open in a way that only serves to further endear him to Castiel.

"I love you, Dean," the man whispers into the black night. He presses a gentle kiss to Dean's hand, and his last thought before he falls asleep is that Dean doesn't slow down for anything, not for his enemies, not for his friends, not for his own youth, and not even for sleep.

__________

Dean awakens sometime in the middle of the night. He rubs his eyes and waits for them to adjust to the pitch black darkness of the very, very early morning. The first thing he's really aware of is Cas's body next to him, the warmth that the man gives off, and the fact that they're so wrapped up in one another that it'd be impossible for him to try to extract himself without waking Cas, too.

But it's nice, he thinks, to sit in the silence of night and admire the man next to him. Even once his eyes adjust, he can't really make out many of Cas's features. He just watches the rise and fall of Castiel's body as the man breathes. It's a simple yet profound comfort to Dean, to know that the man still lives and breathes beside him, that Cas isn't just some figment of his demented imagination.

Dean is able to worm one of his arms out from beneath his pillow, and he uses it to card his fingers through Cas's wild hair.

He heard Cas when the man said he loved him earlier. Dean wasn't quite asleep yet, and his heart had picked up pace having heard the confirmation. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to form the three words on his lips to bring his lover the same comfort. Cas has offered at least ten declarations of affection for one of Dean's. But Dean can't. He tends to hurt the ones he loves. Sam, his parents, Bobby... they're all subject to Dean's mistakes, are forced to take the brunt of them. And Dean doesn't want to do that to Cas. He would never forgive himself if he pulled some stupid shit and lost the man forever. It never occurs to him that, perhaps, his lack of outward statements could be misconstrued as his never having loved Cas at all.

But, for now, Dean is riding on cloud nine. Even with the worry for tomorrow's race churning somewhere deep within his subconscious, he can't find it in himself to feel anything but happiness, because Cas is there. Cas is breathing, is alive, is loving and caring and a thousand things Dean never asked for and never felt that he deserved. And that's enough for him.

The repetition of running his fingers through Cas's hair lulls Dean to sleep.