He's soaked to the skin and he's faced down an archangel. The storm, the unrestrained power beating at his mind, his soul, his body, seems inconsequential in the face of that. A wild feeling - he can do anything, take on anything - forces itself up inside him.

Castiel is there and soaked and vulnerable. No ozone sparking around him, not any more. He doesn't look like an angel of the lord. He doesn't look like much more than a poor, beaten guy caught in the rain, thin coat plastered to his body. This won't last long, this moment.

Dean takes a moment, grabs the stupid tie he fixed earlier and pulls Castiel close, smashes their mouths together. It's not a good kiss - too much in the way of teeth, too much in the way of want and pain and fear. Castiel doesn't even seem to know how to respond. He merely moves his lips slackly against Dean's. He looks shocked, for a moment, when Dean pulls back, free.

The rain slicks his hair to his head. His shoulders hunch. He doesn't look like he just faced down an archangel.

Dean sighs. "Get in the car, Cas."