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It isn’t their fault, he knows. Their eyes are glazed and when they touch him, their skin is hot enough to sear. When they’d staggered towards him after dispatching the witch, Cas had realised instantly the predicament they were in. He’d urged them both to the Impala, and drove as quickly as he could back to the bunker.

He finds a note – small mercies – from Mary. It’s a hasty scribble, the sheet of paper tucked under a mug on the table. She’d received a call for help from another hunter and hoped to be back in a couple of days.

If Dean and Sam were themselves, Cas knows how deeply this would have affected them. He’s listened to their dismay over this – that Mary finds it difficult to be around them, but will drop everything to attend the funeral of a hunter she hadn’t seen since his boyhood.

But they are not themselves, and Cas knows he for one is exceptionally grateful Mary is not here.

He isn’t sure the fact that she’s their mother would prevent them from…

Doing what their instincts now require.

Dean takes him first. He isn’t rough, but he isn’t especially gentle either. Cas offers no resistance. He lets Dean strip him, moving him this way and that until he’s bare, and Dean then kneels at the bottom of the bed, studying him as he lies naked and vulnerable.

It’s an oddly human concept, to be embarrassed or ashamed of one’s body, but all the same Dean’s gaze is too intent to be comfortable. Cas makes the mistake of trying to cover himself and that earns him a snarl of warning.

He doesn’t try it again.

At least Dean remembers enough to prepare him. Cas bites his lip hard enough to draw blood as Dean eases his knees apart and slides a lubed finger inside him. He soon adds another, slipping them in and out, the friction a torment. In theory, Cas knows how this is meant to go – he may never have done it, but several thousand years of observing life on Earth has not left him ignorant of human sexual relations.

But seeing it done, and being the person it’s done to… These are very different things.

Dean adds a third finger, and it’s instantly too much. Cas’s instinct of self preservation comes into play then, and it wars with what is always his driving force. Despite his desire to save the Winchesters, he tries to scoot back, protests with a simple, “Dean, please, wait.”

It earns him no respite. Dean’s hand closes around the back of his left calf, anchoring him, and before Cas can do anything further, Sam has hold of his wrists. His fate was already sealed – the moment he realised what was required to cure the brothers, he had made up his mind – but he knows now that even if he does want to back out, he will not be allowed.

And when Sam and Dean are recovered, they will remember all of this. The curse on them unfortunately does not include amnesia.

Sam continues to hold him as Dean pushes inside, and leans forward enough that he has to brace himself with a hand on either side of Castiel’s head. The angle it creates is brutal, and Dean moves fast and sharp.

He comes quickly, with a deep grunt, and Castiel tries to ignore the burn of his tears. He had expected pain, but perhaps it’s worse because the two humans he loves more than all others are doing this to him. And they will remember it, in perfect detail.

He can’t save himself if he wants to save them, but he won’t be able to save them from the memories of this.

Dean slides out and clambers off the bed. He collapses into the chair in the corner, where he can continue to watch, and slides his hand roughly up and down his penis. Cas watches him, hoping for any sign the curse is fading, that he’s coming back to himself.

But his eyes still have that distant look, and then Cas is distracted by Sam looming over him. The taller brother still has hold of his wrists, pinning them now to either side of his head, and he sinks inside with little warning.

Their sizes are distinctly different, and Sam immediately hurts. Cas hasn’t come – he doubts he would be able to – but every thrust of Sam’s seems to rub him raw. He tries to pull away, but Sam’s strong, and holds him down with no hesitation. Again and again, he pushes inside, slow and deep, and Cas squirms and struggles in his grip. Yes, he will endure this to save them, but his body is unhappy with the torment and Cas can’t stop it doing what comes naturally to it.

Try to escape the pain.

He can’t ignore the deep ache each time Sam pulls out and then rocks back in. He seems to go deeper each time, and the pain spreads through Cas’s abdomens and thighs. It’s like that part of his body has knotted up and Cas realises the tension might in fact be his body reacting to the stimulation.

But it isn’t pleasant and he pleads to Sam as he did to Dean. “Sam, please, just a moment and then you can do what you want.”

Sam pauses and looks down at him; his head cocks to one side in confusion, and Cas feels the tightness in his body start to unlock. The curse must be lifting, if Sam can understand –

He cries out as Sam snaps his hips forward, the movement hard and brutal and without warning. Sam goes faster then, and finally Cas truly can take no more, and screams at him to stop, to please let him go.

He needn’t have wasted his breath.


Cas reasons he must have passed out at some point. He’s lying alone in the bed, sore and wrung out, and perhaps, he thinks, bleeding.

He’s been used too hard not to be.

When he catches movement from the corner of his eye, he flinches. Dean is standing up, now, watching him like there’s something here he can’t quite understand. He glances back at the doorway, and Cas follows his gaze.

Sam’s standing there, looking just as perplexed. They exchange glances, and for that one, pathetic moment, Cas allows himself hope.

He should have known better by then, he tells himself, as Sam comes inside and closes the door.