(A/N) This is another birthday fic, but it's an old one that I never uploaded. However, this time, it's actually a couple I love! Go Destiel (with a little side of Crobby)!
Also it's my first on here that's not an anime fic! Hope you enjoy! Let the drama and smut, begin~
Wake Up
"You wanna run that by me again?"
Because there was no way in hell Bobby Singer had heard that right. There was no way anyone, not even an angel of the Lord with a stunted emotional development problem could be this stupid.
The angel in question gave the old hunter an odd look. He was sure he had spoken clearly and did not understand the need to repeat himself. "I said that lately I have found myself thinking about Dean for no apparent reason. My chest feels tight when we talk and I find myself staring at him more then is necessary. I also get strangely angry whenever I see him touching anyone other then you or Sam, or when somebody touches him." He stopped, staring at the ground, his eyebrows furrowed.
Bobby watched Castiel struggle for the words he wanted to use from his place in his armchair. It was clear to the old hunter that the angel was new to the whole 'spilling your guts' thing, which just made the whole experience that much more painful to watch.
"I believe I may be experiencing what you humans call…emotions, but they keep coming so quickly and so strongly that it's overwhelming. I feel joy when Dean is experiencing happiness, I feel sorrow when he is not. I am angry whenever someone hurts him or says something offensive about him and feel anxious when I don't check in at least once a day. I also feel…" Here the angel paused and the less Bobby thought about the reddening of the man's cheeks, then the less therapy he'd need. "Strangely warm whenever I am in close proximity with him or there is physical contact between us," he said at last. "I have…consulted with Sam about these matters, but he just stayed very quiet and gave me a strange look before calling me an idiot and telling me to wake up." Castiel tilted his head, his expression lost and confused. "I don't understand. I don't require sleep and I wasn't visiting him in one of his dreams during our conversation, so why would he tell me to wake up? What does it have to do with how I've been behaving around Dean?"
The silence in the room was positively eerie as the two men stared back at one another for a solid two minutes. One with a look of pure disbelief etched across his face, and one holding nothing but honest cluelessness. Finally, the former broke the building awkwardness with a huff. "Jeezus, I can't believe I'm doin' this. Alright…" he started, looking the angel straight in the eye. "So you're feelin' this way about Dean, but not about nobody else, right?" Castiel nodded slowly. "Well, don't ya think tha' might mean somethin'? That Dean might be special?"
The lost puppy eyes were back. "But Dean is special. He's the righteous man. He's the one God wanted us to raise from perdition."
Bobby sighed, leaning forward in his chair and rubbing his forehead. The sheer stupidity in the room was as bad as a hangover. Worse even. "Balls, if an angel can't figure out somethin' so simple, don't go expectin' me to explain it to ya." It was quiet for a minute. Bobby didn't even have to look up to know what kind of face the angel would have on when he did. The sound of fluttering wings met his ears and when he lifted his head from his hand, Castiel was gone.
"Balls…" he growled, pulling himself to his feet and heading to the kitchen to grab a bottle of scotch out of the fridge. Chugging back a glass, he had to wonder what this sudden little visit from Castiel might mean. Well, he had hopes for what it might mean anyway, but seeing as the two idjits involved were about as dense as concrete, well… The old hunter sighed and headed back to the living room, plopping himself down on the couch, bottle in hand. Well, it wasn't like this was anything Bobby hadn't seen before.
Because Bobby had seen it all. Not just the monsters and the demons and the angels, but everything else that came with life. The pain and the heartbreak, but also the good stuff too. The looks people gave each other and the tones of their voices when they talked about them. You just become accustomed to that sort of thing, because everyone has a time where they looked at someone like that. The sort of look he'd seen John Winchester giving the small picture of Mary the man kept hidden away in his wallet. The way Sam had sounded when he'd called up the old hunter from college, telling him he'd met a girl named Jess, and now the look he gave, albeit sadder whenever a certain mischievous archangel came up in conversation. Hell, he'd looked at Karen that way himself on the very first day he'd met her and every day after that. Even now he found himself glancing that way at someone, though most of the time he wished he weren't.
But it hadn't been since Castiel had come along, that Bobby had started seeing it on Dean's face. The boy carried more love for his family that was mentally healthy and had gone through more flings then he could remember, but Bobby could not remember a time, for the life of him, where Dean's eyes would light up or there'd be a twitch at the corner of his mouth, just because a certain trench-coated angel was in the room with him.
And Bobby was no expert on angels, but he knew enough about folk to know that no one, not even a messenger of God, stares at a fella for as long as Castiel did or comes as often as he does whenever that same person calls him, just because his Daddy told him to.
Bobby rubbed his hand over his face. The sooner those two sons of bitches put two-and-two together, the sooner Bobby could go back to just getting headaches from drunken all-nighters and monster hunts, rather then being surrounded by idiocy and denial.
"Idjits. Both of 'em," he muttered. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a few moments before feeling a pair of smooth, experienced hands on his shoulders, massaging into his muscles.
"I couldn't agree more, darling," a sleek, Scottish voice breathed out. Bobby's eyes snapped open to find a certain King of Hell above him, eyebrows raised and grinning cheekily. "Hello, Robert," Crowley cooed, brushing a knuckle over the man's cheekbone, making him flinch. "Is that a .45 in your trousers or are you just happy to see me?" Quick as a flash, the old hunter had the barrel of the gun pressed into the demon's skull. "Oh, don't be like that," Crowley scoffed. "You'll hurt my feelings."
Bobby let out a long breath, lowering the gun. Great, just what he needed… another migraine waiting to happen. "How'd you get in here?" he deadpanned, pulling himself out of the other man's hands. "Cas demon-proofed the place."
"King of Hell, remember Robert?" Crowley teased, wagging a finger back and forth. "No one knows the loopholes better than me." Bobby muttered something under his breath that made Crowley smirk as he moved to settle down in the seat across from the old hunter and take a glass for himself. He downed it before making a face. "Good Lord, where do you get this stuff? Honestly…"
"Hey, no one's askin' you to drink it, so if you don't like it, shove it." Bobby gulped down another glass for good measure, head thrown back and hand clenched around the arm of the couch.
Crowley took a moment to study him, letting his eyes wander before making a small shrug and 'poof-ing' a bottle of what was sure to be high-class scotch into existence and pouring himself a glass. He raised it out slightly and with a short "Cheers," swallowed it down. The two men sat in silence like that for a while, drinking scotch and exchanging glances before the demon spoke again.
"So, has Chuckles finally figured it out?"
Bobby refused to look at Crowley, savoring the burn of the golden liquid as it traveled down his throat. "He's gettin' there," he finally muttered.
"Well, let's just hope that he 'gets there' before the sexual tension radiating off those two suffocates us all. Honestly, they're worse then the French." Crowley smiled in such a way that had Bobby's face betraying a smirk of its own. He quickly tried to force his features back into the scowl they were used to, but it was too late. The King of Hell caught his slip and raised an eyebrow, disbelievingly. "Keep smiling like that and I might start handing out kisses to you for free."
The hunter felt his weathered face beginning to heat up, but he refused to admit it was from anything other then the alcohol. "Do you want me to shoot ya full of rock-salt? 'Cause I got no problem with that."
Crowley grins, his white teeth gleaming and his eyes turning a shade darker that actually has Bobby starting to reach for his gun, before the other man's eyes return to their regular shade and he's leaning back, completely relaxed, because he knows Bobby won't do it, won't shot him. And damn it, why does he have to be right? Why does this guy, this guy, have to be the only one that makes Bobby more nervous, more jittery, more on edge than any other demon, any other person since Karen?
"Kinky," Crowley says. "But really, you should make a gent dinner before you start swapping fetishes."
Bobby finally met the demon's gaze, placing his glass down on the table with a solid 'clink'. He tried to sound annoyed, he really did, but he was failing horribly. "You're a low-down jackass, y'know that?" he huffed, with no real anger behind it at all.
"And you look gorgeous in flannel." Crowley leaned forward, that same annoyingly sly smirk on his face as his eyes trail over the old hunter's bulky body. "Now, are we done exchanging pleasantries, because I can think of a much more productive way to use our mouths."
"Shaddup, Crowley," the other man snarled.
Crowley chuckled, leaning back in his chair, down-casting his eyes and bringing up his hands in what he probably saw as a pacifying gesture. "Now, now… Don't get your knickers in a bunch. I was simply-" his words were cut off and his eyes flew open as the demon felt himself being hauled forward by his tie and pulled into a very warm, very rough, wet kiss. The taste of alcohol was still hot on Bobby's tongue as he entwined it with Crowley's and his beard scratched the shorter man's face as he moved against him. Crowley let out a low hum of approval and was well on his way to returning the favor, before Bobby pulled himself off, breathing heavy with the gray, silk tie still in his grasp. He was making a point to stare down the demon, face him like a man and not avoid eye-contact, but Crowley could still the beginnings of a non-alcoholic induced blush, make its way over he old hunter's cheekbones. Crowley gave an absolutely sinful smile. This human was just too entertaining for his own good. "Well, this is a surprise," he smirked. "I never imagined you'd be so bold. And here I thought we were going to take things slow."
"I told you to shaddup," the hunter growled, fire back in his voice as he pulled the aggravating demon back towards him to crush their lips together once more.
After leaving Bobby's house, Castiel had flown to small town in Massachusetts and sat on a park bench for at least two hours. His talk with Bobby had not helped at all, in fact it had only helped add to his confusion. Of course Dean was special. That went without saying, but it didn't explain why Dean was so special to him. The human had already rejected his role in the prophecy and Castiel had gone along with it, choosing free will over destiny thanks to Dean. So why was Dean Winchester still so important to the now-fallen angel?
Why was it that every time Dean tried to teach him something, he paid rapt attention so he could execute it perfectly? That every time Dean complimented him, he unconsciously found the corners of his mouth twisting upwards? Why was it that he dropped whatever he was doing to come when Dean called and no one else? Why did he not want to back away whenever the hunter told him, "Personal space"? Why did he want so badly, for Dean to turn around and smile at him? To see him?
And where was this…desire coming from? The desire to protect, to hear, to be close to, to be looked at, to touch. Why did his body, well, Jimmy's body really, but he had been the only one occupying it for a while now, react so strongly to Dean? These days it was physically painful to be in the same room with him, but he just could not keep himself away.
Emotions were human-created, his brothers in Heaven had said. Unsuitable, undesirable for a clear head and an effective soldier. That was what had he had been taught. It was also one of the things he had rejected when he fell. Maybe this was the price for his defiance. Maybe the pain would overtake and consume him. Anna had seemed certain it would not. That feelings were worth it. Castiel wasn't quite sure yet. Perhaps Dean would know. Dean always seemed to know. All Castiel knew was that he needed an answer before the questions drove him completely mad.
He flew to Kansas City. When he arrived in the brothers' motel room, Sam was out and Dean was at the table cleaning his gun. At his friend's sudden appearance, the older Winchester jumped up and raised his weapon before realizing who it was, visibly relaxing when he did.
"Whoa, dude…" Dean stands up, rubbing the back of his head. He lightly waved the gun that hasn't yet been loaded "A little warning next, ok? You never know, I might've been in the shower." Dean laughed adding that little bit of humor that he always tries to draw out. Even if Castiel doesn't 'get' most of Dean's jokes, he's always loved the sound of his laugher. But why? Why does he love the man's laughter so?
"Dean," he breathed out, taking comfort in the man's name on his lips.
Dean's eyes narrow at Castiel's tone. "Cas, what's up? Something wrong?"
Castiel closed his eyes, letting the soothing wave of Dean's voice wash over him. Cas. When had the angel begun considering that to be his name? Not soldier of Heaven, not angel of the Lord. Not even Castiel: Angel of Thursday. Just Cas. Dean's Cas.
"Cas?" Dean asked again. He placed the weapon down on the hard wood of the table next to the bullets and faced Castiel. He seemed concerned as he stared intently at the angel's face. "Are you ok?"
And Castiel couldn't answer. Couldn't do anything except open his eyes and stare at the incredible human being in front of him. It didn't matter what made sense and what didn't. Dean was here, in front of him and that made everything all right. Dean made him want to do more then sit back and observe, made him want to understand, made him want to feel. Emotions were never something that made sense to him, but they were part of what made humans so beautiful. What made Dean so beautiful and shine so brightly and what drew him in toward the human so desperately. Even now he had to stare at the ground so not to be taken in by the man in front of him.
"I think about you," he finally said.
The hunter stepped closer, looking over the other man. "You what?" It was clear he didn't understand.
"I think about you all the time," Castiel continued, oblivious to his friend's confusion. "Even when there's no reason to, I find myself thinking about you and wondering how you are. It doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing, you are always there in the back of my mind."
Dean stopped walking, his arms falling to his side as he stood there dumbstruck. The words kept flowing from Castiel's mouth. They wouldn't stop. They just kept coming.
"I have never experienced anxiety before meeting you and now all I do is worry. I worry that you'll be killed on a hunt, or that Crowley or the other angels will come and take you away to be used as a weapon. Because prophecy or not, you are very capable Dean. You and your brother have proven that mutable times."
Dean blinked before giving the angel a cocky grin. "Well, thanks for that, man, but, uh…" he gestured to the gun on the table. "Me an' Sam, you know, we can take care of ourselves, right?"
Castiel shook his head. "But it's not just that, it's small, trivial things as well." He kept biting his lip, bringing his hands out and back into his pockets. He started walking around the room, searching for the right words as Dean watched him. "I saw an attractive female earlier today and I found myself wondering if she would be your "type" and then feeling anger at the idea. I also passed by an eating establishment on my way here. There was a man in front of the building claiming that they had added a new variety of sandwich to their menu, a "Meat Grinder" and all I could think about was whether you would have liked to try it, how you would have ordered, what you would get with it and would you have flirted with the waitress?" Dean's mouth had dropped open, but Castiel either didn't notice or didn't care as he continued on with his rant. "Ever since I defected from Heaven I've had the opportunity to speak with dozens of different people. Humans, demons, angels and monsters and whenever I do, I try to guess how you would approach the situation, how you would label the other party, what you would say, what you would think."
Dean's eyes were becoming as wide as dinner plates, his open mouth occasionally letting out an "um" or an "ah", but the angel never gave him a chance to speak. He couldn't stop now. It was slowly becoming dawning on Castiel what it was that was happening to him. Perhaps it wasn't crystal clear quite yet, but he at least knew that he wanted to keep Dean's attention focused on him. He wanted Dean to always look at him. To see him.
"I find myself watching you more then I need to. I answer your call more then any other human's, even Sam, and my body, well, my vessel's, it's reacting to you. I am reacting to you. I want to be close to you, I want to hear your voice, I want to see you smile, I want to touch you." Castiel stopped pacing and faced Dean, his face drawn out and almost frantic. "I am not very good at displaying emotions Dean you know that. I have spoken to Sam and to Bobby, but neither one will explain it to me. They just keep calling me an idiot and that you are special to me and to 'wake up', but how can I do that if I'm not asleep, Dean?"
Dean just stood there, looking shocked beyond belief at the man in front of him. The human's reaction slowly starting to register in Castiel's brain, the angel felt his shoulders slump, lowering his eyes to stare at the ground.
"Apologies…" he murmured. "I have no idea what came over me." Of course Dean would think him strange. His outburst was nothing like a normal human's would be. Castiel wasn't Sam who could let it all out and be automatically understood or at least considered by his brother. He wasn't Bobby who held authority and respect over Dean, like no one had since John Winchester had passed on. And he wasn't anything like any of the pretty women Dean liked to affiliate himself with, where he hung onto every word that fell from their painted lips. He couldn't draw Dean's attention like that. He never would.
Castiel turned to leave but stopped as he felt a firm hand on his should, turning him around to face the hunter. Dean's eyes held a blazing look about them that caught Castiel not quite unlike a ring of holy oil. He couldn't move and couldn't stop the slight shudder that ran through his body, all the way from his feet, up to the crown of his head. Keeping their eyes locked, Dean gripped his friend with enough strength that would leave an ordinary man with a very dark bruise.
"You stupid, son of a bitch…" he muttered, taking the angels' face in his hands and pulling him towards him to press his lips against the others. Castiel let out a short yelp of surprise at the contact and stayed frozen as Dean continued to move his mouth against his. Finally, Dean pulled away and Castiel was left blinking dazedly, his face still caught in the hunter's grasp. Dean was smiling at him. "That has got to be…the craziest confession I've ever heard," he murmured before pulling angel against him again.
Hands that were rough from all those repairs on the Impala, all the years of wielding a gun or a knife, were pulling at Castiel's trench coat. Yanking the shirt out of the angel's pants and searching until they finally found that first slip of flushed skin and clung to it. Kneading into his hips, stroking and moving to a rhythm neither one of them could place, pushing Castiel up against the wall. And Castel, it seems, had lost all control of himself and was now humping the hunter's leg like a dog in heat, all the while responding eagerly to Dean's kiss. Sounds he would never have imagined himself making were escaping from the back of his throat all too easily now. Moaning and whimpering like a cheap whore into the other's mouth as he was eagerly devoured, trying desperately to do the same. The second, however, Dean's hand slipped beneath his pants and palmed his very obvious erection, Castiel seemed to regain at least a bit of his senses.
"D-Dean…" Castiel groaned out as soon as his lips were released. He made a few feeble attempts to push the taller man away. "Dean, stop… Stop…"
Dean backed off a little at Castiel's request, drawing his hand out of his pants and leaving the angel with an unexpected feeling of disappointment that he could not explain. Hadn't he been the one to say 'stop'? So why was he wishing so desperately that Dean hadn't listened? However, Dean did not release Castiel from his hold completely. His hands were still gripping tight to the solid outline of Castiel's hips as his eyes traveled over the expanse of the other's face, searching for something. Whatever it was that the hunter was searching for, he apparently found it as a wolfish grin crossed his features before continuing his onslaught of the other's mouth, thrusting his tongue inside deep inside.
Castiel released another low moan before letting himself taste the hunter. Alcohol, burgers, sweat, and something so indescribable, it just had to be pure Dean. Pushing off the wall, the hunter led the across the room and towards the bed. The hunter kissed the angel over and over again. His mouth, his jaw-line, and then his neck, biting and sucking, determined to leave at least one bruise in the soft skin he found there. Castiel couldn't stop himself from letting out a gasp of pleasure, hands delving into Dean's short hair. Both Castiel's trench coat, tie, and shoes were lost along the way along with Dean's jacket. By the time Castiel's back hit the mattress, Dean's shirt had disappeared as well and the angel felt fingers that were not his own, fumbling with the buttons of his dress shirt.
"D-Dean…!" Castiel's hands went to Dean's chest, though he seemed unable to make any move, either to encourage him or to reproach him. Just keeping a hold on him, keeping him in place. "Dean, I told you to-"
In a flash, the angel found his wrists to be pinned above his head. He opened his eyes, when exactly had they closed? Dean was staring him in a way that made the angel feel like he was on fire. His eyes blazing, panting from the struggle, clothes wrinkled and a faint sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. He had never looked more beautiful. "You don't want me to stop," Dean murmurs. "Not really."
Castiel eyes widened in confusion and he opened his mouth to try and give some sort of protest. Dean didn't even let the first syllable escape his mouth, grounding down on the angel, rolling his hips and making Castiel's words die on his tongue. "Dude, you're an angel. If you really wanted me to stop, you could've pushed me away by now. You could've gotten me off you easily and I would've hit the wall." Leaning down, he traced his tongue across the shell of the angel's ear, before blowing out a soft stream of breath, making the man beneath him shiver. "If you really want me to stop, then act like it."
Castiel froze, eyes boring into the ones staring down into his. Blue met green as a fire burned between them in a moment of silence aside from the soft panting of the hunter and the radiator in the corner of the motel room. And in that time, Castiel studied the human above him. Let his eyes roam over that tanned expanse of skin, riddled with gunshot wounds, scars from knives, burns, and monster bites. Castiel had always found humans beautiful, but Dean was something else entirely. He was in excellent shape, despite his annoying addiction to alcohol and foods saturated in fat. But Dean had been hurt so many times, had been sent to hell and it had been Castiel who had rebuilt him from nothing more than a pile of scraps, and still he retained his humanity and it showed. It showed brightly. Finally, Castiel's attention was drawn to Dean's left shoulder, where his handprint is still burned onto his flesh. He let one hand reach up to brush his fingers across it, causing Dean to let out an involuntary shudder.
Castiel quickly started to pull his hand away. "Forgive me," he muttered.
Dean caught his hand before the angel could retract it completely. "Hey, it's ok," he murmured, staring into Castiel's panicked face. "Cas, it's ok." Smiling down at him, he replaced the angel's hand over the mark. Castiel stared at where his fingers lay, taking in the texture of the skin, the size of the hand and how it lined up perfectly with his own. The two men were silent as a thousand thoughts went running through the angel's head.
"Would you ever want to be rid of it?" he asked suddenly. Dean looked confused for a moment. "My mark," Castiel clarified. "If I told you that I could erase it from your skin, would you want me to?"
Dean frowned and fell silent, mulling it around in his head. Castiel noted the was his forehead seemed to crinkle whenever the man was thinking. After a moment, a grin broke out across Dean's face and he shook his head. "Nah… No point in getting rid of a scar. Besides," and this is where, if Castiel needed to in the first place, he would've been rendered breathless, because that smile was just too impossibly bright. It said too much. "I kinda like it."
Castiel's eyes widened.
Oh.
Oh.
So that's what it was.
Castiel shuddered, swallowing hard. He understood now. He saw. With only four short words, Dean had said more than most people could say in a lifetime. Grabbing hold of the back of Dean's head, he yanked him down to press tightly against him, to bring their bodies together and started to devour the hunter's mouth, because he just couldn't stop himself anymore. He didn't care about duty anymore, didn't care that this wasn't appropriate for an angel. Something primal and hungry had been awakened inside the angel; something he never knew even existed as he thrust desperately, searching for friction. Dean let out a low chuckle, "Damn, Cas… Did you learn that from the pizza man too?" Castiel didn't answer and the rest of their clothes were shed as the two moved together on the mattress, searching and frenzied. The need for talking had passed. There was no going back now.
Everywhere Dean touched him, Castiel felt a wave of heat pass through his veins. It didn't matter that this was not his own body that the hunter was touching, for Castiel felt every kiss, every stroke of his hand, every thrust of his hips as if Dean were touching his very soul. The ringing in his ears was deafening, the scent of sweat and fire filled his nostrils and when the hunter finally thrust inside of him, hitting his core on the very first try, Castiel let out a cry that almost shattered the windows. Dean allowed the angel a moment to adjust, before he started to move, grunts and gasps and the slap of skin filling the space between them. The heat, the need, the feelings that were still so new to the angel. It was overwhelming. Feelings that he never could have imagined would ever be reciprocated. He had once been so very afraid of burning. The sensation, the damnation. But he was burning right now. Dean's touch sets him ablaze and all he can feel was a greedy desire for more. He was going up in flames and he never wanted to put them out.
The two men lay in bed together afterwards in post-coital bliss, the angel pressed up against the hunter's chest, listening to his breathing pattern slowly return to normal, his heart rate steadying. The tension has gone from their bodies, their minds at ease for the first time that either can remember. Castiel's hand stroked the hunter's stubbly jaw while Dean brushed his fingers through the angel's dark hair. Finally, Castiel spoke.
"This is all very different for me," he said quietly. "This kind of…feeling."
Dean chuckled, his laughter vibrating in his chest and passing into Castiel's. "Yeah… Believe it or not, me too. This is…" he propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at the man in his arms, studying him. "New," he finally finished. The look in his green eyes had changed. Gone was the lust and in its place, affection so deep it was almost foreign on the hunter's face. Dean settled himself back onto the sheets and wrapped his arm around his lover, pressing their lips together and giving Castiel the opportunity to lay his head down on Dean's chest and listen to the steady rhythm of the hunter's heartbeat..
"Hey, Cas?" Dean asked suddenly.
"Yes, Dean?" Castiel answered, not even raising his head from his place on Dean's warm skin.
"…I, uh, I lo… I mean…
Castiel smiled into the hunter's slowly cooling skin. "I know."
"Oh, uh… Good, then. That's good."
Later, after Dean fell asleep, Castiel watched him dream. He watched those long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and that cheeky grin flicker over his features. Even when the hunter was not conscious, it seemed he could not help but be full of himself. He counted the freckles on Dean's face the scars on his chest. Castel raised one hand to let his hand trace over his handprint once again where it was burned into the hunter's skin, only to have Dean let out a short snore and bring his arms more tightly around the angel. Drawing him close and burying his face in Castiel's dark, messy hair. Castiel smiled into the space between his neck and his shoulder blade, breathing in deeply and at peace.
"I kinda like it."
Dean didn't have to say the words. He'd already said more than enough.