Second release, first part, of my silly little universe: Now with proper formatting! Obviously inspired in part by Swan Song. Yes it's long again, yes there's no chapter breaks. I regret everything about this.
This is short tale in the lives of Dean Winchester and the angel Castiel. That is not entirely correct: This is the short tale in the lives of Dean Winchester, the angel Castiel, and a '67 midnight black Chevy Impala. To exclude the silent member of the Winchester tribe would be an insult of the highest pedigree. The scars she bears; the knowledge she holds within her very frame; conversations overheard; temporary bedding for amorous encounters; miles traveled. This transport of weary and equally tried souls has experienced enough to be considered a human.
But this is all very common knowledge by now. The dents, the dings, scratches and other various destructive encounters are well-documented. This one is the most recent and the least violent. Less sweaty, too. To the vehicle it is just another day of existence, another day of fulfilling its purpose. But for those inside, there could be no other place and no other setting. The home away from home, the comfort of being in your bedroom, surrounded by its comfort and familiarity. Shared memories that have built a foundation of unity.
It was here, on a day just like any other day on this blue planet, that the fortress Dean spent nearly all of his life building up to protect himself from emotional distress began to crack.
And it was here when Castiel acknowledged and embraced his own humanity. Sam and Dean gave him that gift but now, finally, he was able to use it. Whether or not he ever thought he would use it for this purpose is something you would have to ask him yourself.
Two battered souls, both striving for love while simultaneously trying so hard to push it away, each having their own unique reasoning. A fear of loss, a fear of the unknown. Today was the day that ended, and it happened in no place better, no place safer, than the confines of the Impala.
Though the date on his call phone read as May 17th, the cold damp of the outside clung to his body long after he heated the interior of his Baby. He always remembered the Pacific Northwest being chillier than average, but in May? With the rain too? Why were all cases located in unseasonable cool places? But perhaps it was for the best; he wouldn't be caught dead in a pair of shorts. The extra layers of jackets and shirts became his uniform, his armor. He would flippantly comment that shorts left him feeling naked, but the reality was that he was self-conscious of his bow legs. Everyone knew that was the true issue but to avoid confrontation is was best to agree and nod. Even while drunk, much to Sam's chagrin, his brother would never don a pair. Well, he was a coach once, but behind that whistle he felt invincible. In that moment he felt glorious.
Just his luck, Dean sighed to himself as he pulled into the parking lot of the motel Sam chose to bunk at. The downpour of ice cold rain became a waterfall. Wet clothes cannot become any more waterlogged so what should it matter. Let it rain. A dry pair of pants and shirt awaited him only feet away. At least it's only water: blood doesn't dry so cleanly. It was all supposed to be very routine, too. Play dress-up, go to a house to ask some questions while Sam stayed behind to investigate on his laptop and do whatever other nerdy and perverted things he does while Dean is gone. Never did he expect to have the waters that flooded the world during Noah's days to fall upon him on the way back to his car. He begrudgingly stripped himself of this jacket and tossed it onto the back seat and made his way home, hating Sam just a tiny bit more for being warm and dry.
Windshield wipers turn off and keys pulled out of the ignition, Dean's hand was hovering to open the door when a voice too loud for the small confines of the car asked him, "Does my vessel bother you?"
Usually when Cas appears it is very similar to this: abruptly, no word of warning and straight to the task at hand as he still has not mastered the finer point in human chit-chat, but what caught Dean off-guard was voice was proceeded by the flapping of his wings and not the other way around, as if Cas was speaking as he teleported himself. Once Dean grasped that dizzying sensation he turned aside to look at the angel.
Face slack and emotionless, his eyes gave away a more serious tale. There was confusion, that much Dean could see, but what he could not see was the hurt, and the sadness of... what? Eyes that were pleading for something.
"Hey Cas, could you, um, repeat that for me?" He wanted to make sure he heard Cas's inquiry correctly.
"Do you find my vessel displeasing?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean asked uncertainly.
"It is the only explanation I can think of. To be so suggestive and flirtatious and yet not–"
Dean quickly held up his hands in front of him. "Wait wait, what did you say? 'Flirtatious?' What's going on here, Cas?" Castiel wasn't the only one confused now. Was he getting his terminology confused again or did he truly mean that?
"If you would be silent and let me continue, maybe you wouldn't ask so many questions." Dean clenched his jaw in displeasure but remained silent as the angel said. "As I was saying. I am not unaware of it. Over the years I have spent with you and Sam I have been able to improve on my ability to pick up on inflections and sarcasm, tone and body language. The way you look at me, the way you speak to me, it is not..." Cas fished around his vocabulary for the right word but could not find it. "It's not normal."
"Normal," Dean snorted. "Lecturing me on normal? Neither of us should be teaching anybody about what normal is. I treat you how I would anybody else."
Cas shook his head. "You know that is not true."
No.
A trickle of water began to make its way down Dean's forehead and he stubbornly wiped it away. "What the hell are you implying? I speak to you a certain way, I keep eye contact a little too long, so that means I'm head over heels for your feathery ass?"
"That's what I came here to ask you. That if," he took in a deep breath and sighed, "the gender of my vessel had been female, you would have claimed your love for me."
And there it is. Spoken bluntly and uncomfortably. Castiel, for whatever reason, interpreted Dean's friendship with him as something more. It had to be angelic ignorance. Did angels know what love was in the way that humans thought of it? The only love they had ever known was for their Father and that was exactly as it sounded: something platonic, going far beyond the boundary of physical love to something that embraced the soul, warmed it and sheltered it. That was his love for Cas; no different than Sam. A love that, no matter how many times they screwed up and nearly cost the end of the world, it would always be there, ready to forgive and lend a shoulder to lean on.
"Look Cas. I love you like a brother and I'm proud to say your my friend, but that's it. That's all it's ever been. I'm sorry that you've interpreted it in any other way that that. Now I gotta get inside. These pants are beginning to chafe." He made a show of pulling at his trousers before reaching to open the door.
"I never gave you the full truth as to why I never showed myself to you while living with Lisa."
Damnit. Just as he was almost out, Cas pulls him back in. He tapped on the door handle before slouching back in his seat. "Alright, you got me. Spin me a yarn to keep me here longer."
Cas leaned his head on the cool glass, watching the raindrops zig-zag down the window. "I stayed hidden and watched. I know it still seems difficult to understand, but I did it for you. For that period, I was the cliched guardian angel for your new family. With Sam in the cage, I was the only thing tying you back to your old life, a life of demons and blood and Armageddeon. I... did not want you to deal with that again." He lazily began to follow the drops with his finger. "You found happiness in that life. You had 'normal'. A child, a girlfriend, a modest home in the suburbs with meddlesome neighbors living a very similar existence. Something I could never give to you."
For several moments in time the only sound that would be heard was the icy tapping of rain on the exterior of the car and the many puddles forming along side it. Why was something so quiet ringing like gunshots?
With no cue, Cas added, "You deserved to be happy."
"Cas, what..." What are you trying to tell me? was what he wanted to say but his voice was unable to catch. But inside he knew.
Don't say any more.
The angel laughed pathetically. "It was much easier then. Blindly obeying, believing whatever I was commanded was the correct path. 'Save the vessel of Micheal.' 'Protect the vessel of Micheal.' I did as I was told, happily. I was a good son, a good soldier, respected among my peers. But in doing so, I became broken." He cast his gaze back to Dean, the look of hurt and loss remaining. "It was not merely the contact I had with humanity that was my undoing. It was you. As much as it pained me to admit, all of my decisions and actions had your kind acknowledged, but you were at the forefront. What would Dean think? What would Dean do in this situation? How will it benefit him?"
He raised an accusatory finger at Dean, voice turning to a sour note. "You. A human as any other. Imparted with an extraordinary undertaking, but an ignorant and rude ape nonetheless."
"And here I thought you were confessing your love for me," Dean retorted. While he could do without the name-calling, he was glad this conversation was turning back into that direction. Because if were to go a certain way...
Keep it to yourself, Cas. Don't do this to me.
"I..." Cas paused, not sure how to continue. Should he even continue? He came to Dean hoping to find an answer to a question long in need of an answer, but why was he– what was the phrase? Spilling his guts? What did he hope to gain divulging in his own emotions? Was it necessary to mention Ben and Lisa?
Yes, it had been. To keep Dean here with him. To get an answer. But what he had not planned for was Dean's answer, both the affirmative and the negative. That bridge shall be crossed when the chance arises. Right now, he would continue. Dean did mention love after all, and wasn't that what this was about? The definition of love as he understood it was very loose. Even if Dean holds back, it is only fair for Cas to make known how he "loved" him, right?
Castiel laughed, a hollow sound that reminded Dean with frightening clarity of the Castiel he saw in 2014: a man truly as empty and bereft of compassion as he sounded. It made his skin crawl. "Did it really sound like I was confessing? Did my wishing to replace Lisa, my desire to live a domesticated semi-charmed life with you as a human and despite my wants, what I wanted most of all was your happiness? A happiness that could only be achieved without me?" He wildly shook his head, shocked at his own disconcertion. "I'm not entirely sure of what love is so please Dean, tell me: What does that sound like to you?"
Only at the end of his tirade did he note the venom in his words. At the time they truly did seem comical, that he could be sincere in his words and Dean could still crack wise. Why shouldn't he? Dean, though, did not appear to understand Cas's unique brand of comedy. His jaw hung slack, from shock or rage or indignation, Castiel could not tell.
This was it. It was happening. The tightness in his stomach, the quickening pace of his heart, everything his conscious his warned him against, told him to fear, was happening.. But this was a different fear that was normally brought upon by monsters and various other baddies of the week. This was something primal, something Dean had lived with all of his life, trying consciously to avoid. Every motion, word and though was a perfect execution of denial. But there was a blue-eyed angel who did not know the meaning of "be quiet" in front of him, taking the bricks out of a wall that took him years to build at a maddeningly simple pace.
Get out. Walk away, head inside, change your damn soggy pants and pretend this never happened.
But he couldn't. As one voice screamed for him to bolt, another held him glued to his seat, needing, pleading, to hear Cas out. There would be nothing but pain and heartbreak here, but he had to continue because what was Dean but a masochist at his core. He needed to hear Cas say it.
GO!
Cas had went too far. This was not his intention, not at all. "I... I apologize, Dean. I have spent my entire existence serving, having the interests of others dictate my actions. This sense of free will I have learned..." He took a deep breath; it was time to reveal his hand. "You have to understand I have never wanted anything before. Faithful servants do not want, they do not need. This is not to say angels have never fallen to vice, but I was not one of them. But you claimed me as a friend and showed me that having desire is not a detestable thing. Coveting does not make me a lesser being. It means I'm free." Cas smiled wistfully, tasting the words on his lips, more wonderful than any wine. Freedom sounds wonderful. Saying it here in front of Dean made it so... tangible, a full recognition of its acquirement.
The car was becoming entirely too warm. Was it warm in here? Dean loosened his tie more hastily than he intended, hoping to lighten the suffocation. "Would you stop dicking around and tell me what you want to say?" A true knee-jerk reaction. Completely unintended. Cas explained himself already, he knew, but they were only words. They would only become truth when he stated it plainly.
"I want... to be greedy." He chuckled in spite of himself, realizing how childish that sounded. "I see what you want and what others desire of you and I don't want to give a damn." Cas moved imperceptibly closer to Dean. "I want you."
"Want me?"
"Do not play dumb, Dean. You know precisely what I mean." He leaned back in the seat and folded his hands on his lap. "In the same way Lisa had you."
There were a million and one ways he could have responded to this, ranging from "You want to be a woman?" to "Can angels suffer amnesia?" but nothing registered in his mind. The only thought, the only sound in his head was the chanting no, no, no and every foul word he had acquire in his life that were unable to reach his mouth.
"Now that I've told you what you wanted to know, perhaps you could–"
"No."
"No," Cas repeated, tilting his head. "No, I am fine as a m–"
"Damnit Cas, I mean no!" Dean roared, hand slapping the steering wheel. "I am not answering any questions, I'm not going to ask you any more questions, and both of us are going to pretend you never made this pit stop. Fucking ridiculous," he ended mumbling just loud enough for Castiel to hear.
Fearing Dean was threatening to leave again, he spoke quickly. "What is hurting you so deeply?"
"I said no more questions!" He raised his hand to strike the angel, although Castiel had intentionally provoked Dean to do so. He grabbed Dean by the wrist with no effort and held him in place but still felt pressure as Dean continued to push. Whatever emotion Dean was experiencing he would tire of soon enough as Cas's grip was unrelenting. Once the Winchester had exhausted himself, maybe he would talk.
Cas held tightly as Dean continued to push, needing his fist to make contact with the face of a prying angel. He told him to stop. Pleaded for Cas to discontinue this game he was playing. But why? Why did Cas not quit? What did he have to gain from making Dean hate him? Why was he deliberately trying to infuriate and, quite honestly, do something you wouldn't do to someone you cared for?
And it was clear so suddenly, like the flip of a switch. That's right. Cas had to be tough on him. After all, it is the game that Dean himself created. There was no gain in this play they were enacting, but only the prevention of losing something. Cas was doing to him at this moment what he had since he decided that he would not weaken himself anymore. That he would not make himself vulnerable to what destroyed him more than any physical torture could. Dean could not appear weak. A soldier with a gap between his armor was at risk of being killed no matter how expensive or well researched the armor was. At this point in his life, the only gap he had was Sam and god damnit that was enough. To lose Sam would be bad enough, but to lose someone else he allowed into his heart...
Dean stopped pushing and Cas let go slowly. Not wanting to meet Cas's penetrating eyes, he looked out the side window and debated on what to do next. Leave it at this and head into the hotel room to Sam who would ask why he looked so flustered and wet and Dean just did not want anymore questions. He could wait in silence with Cas until he took the hint and flew off to who-the-hell-cares. Or he could be honest, tell Castiel why he could not answer him and have a panic attack in the process.
You can't let him in.
Why not?
He will leave you. Everyone always leaves. This will be no different. Why do you want to be hurt? This can be prevented! Leave. Castiel won't bring it up again. He's a big boy; he won't hold a grudge.
Intentionally keeping himself hidden but within range to speak to and to touch, yeah, Dean guessed Cas could handle much worse than him walking away. But that didn't mean it was right. He owed Cas honesty. Now if he could stop himself before he said words that could not be taken back.
"What's with angels trying to get a piece of me? If you guys aren't trying to kill or possess me you're trying to take my clothes off," he said trying to lighten the heavy air he created in the car, as much for himself as Cas. Hard to tell it it worked as Cas looked as he always did: putting all of his power and effort into paying attention and not enough into emoting. Realizing that plan fell through, he continued. "So you got the impression that I like you like you, huh?"
Castiel nodded. "Which is why I inquired you about my vessel's gender. I know you and your brother perceive me as being robotic and ignorant when it concerns how humans feel, but that is not so. I can read you very effectively. Giving the proper reaction is out of my grasp, yes, but I know what is going on inside of you, Dean." He squinted his eyes, beginning to read the man: his slumped posture, the hint of embarrassment and turmoil in his tired eyes, his right hand unconsciously clenching tensely at his side. He went further in. "There's a storm inside of you. Dark and thunderous, and all of your own doing. Dark so I cannot see it, cacophonous so I cannot hear. I want to go further but it is too violent, like you would sic hell upon me if I tried to venture near. Which I suppose you have already done." The corner of his mouth quirked slightly. "That was my warning."
He turned his body to view Dean more comfortably. "But I'm not going to back away anymore. It's something I have done for far too long."
Frustration began to bubble in the back of Dean's mind and tried with all of his willpower to keep in in check. "But why, Cas? Why do you have to keep prying? This is a sleeping dog that's better left lying. That storm metaphor is there for a reason."
"But why?"
Dean ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Cas, please, not again..."
"Dean, I... I care too much about you to see you so miserable."
Another crack, another shift, a punch to the stomach. Of all the things to say, why that? Dean took the defensive because, though a valiant effort it was, he was breaking. "That's your problem there, Cas."
"What is?"
"That, that, what you just fucking said. Caring, hoping," he petered off, effort beginning to drain him. "It just ends up hurting you in the end."
Dean knew this is what Castiel wanted all along, and he gave it up so easily. He was amused at the simplicity of it. In the span of mere minutes, Cas took him apart inch by inch not with actions, but with few words. He had to snap his fingers and work some angel magic on Dean while he wasn't paying attention, right? How did he do it?
You know exactly why.
Because he did exactly what Dean despised. Given all the warnings, baring all the threats and the teasing and abuse, his angel came back for seconds every time, never taking a hint probably because he didn't know how to; subtlety is dust in the wind. Knowing what Dean was like within and without, still needing him, one broken soul to another. A hand pleading to be taken, obscured by dark clouds and cold with rain, wind about to pull them both down. One he could not take.
This is too much. This is too god damn much.
"Love hurts," Cas said slowly, committing it to his own memory.
"Yup, just like the song. The more you put yourself out there, the more likely destiny rips out your heart to put in a blender to make a breakfast smoothie. I tried this 'caring' crap, Cas. Quit now." He sealed his lips before while I haven't hurt you could sneak by.
Cas squinted his eyes again, computing, putting together the puzzle pieces inside his head. "Everyone you care for... dies, correct?"
"Yes, Castiel, that's correct. Everyone I have ever loved has died. Mom's dead. Bobby's dead. Jo and Ellen. Dead. I've lost count of how many times Sam has died and one of these days he probably won't come back and I'll lose him to Hell like dad. Yes, Castiel, everyone I love LEAVES ME!" Having nothing to punch besides the windows and even in his tempered state he knew better than hit it, he threw his elbow back into the car's bench seat several times with all the force he could muster in this position, receiving violent squeaking as a reply. Two days later when he had fully calmed down, he apologized to his Baby for hitting her and promised never to do it again, that if Cas said or did something stupid while they were in her, Cas's face is the only thing that would be dented.
Castiel let Dean have three deep breaths before he inquired. "You are afraid of losing me too." It was not a question, but Dean answered.
"I... I don't know. You're my friend; of course I'd be hurt if you died, but," he sighed, thoroughly exhausted. "I just don't know, man. I'm fucking lost."
Cas resisted the inclination to lend a reassuring hand to Dean as he was dealing with issues decades in the making. The effect it would have would be the opposite of comforting. But nothing he could say would ever be good enough. So, he would let Dean take all the time he needed to think things through.
One minute. Three. Seven. Ten. Ten minutes of silence, ten minutes of the patter of rain and Dean's heartbeat in his own ears. Ten minutes of Castiel waiting for Dean, waiting for the Righteous Man as he did for his entire existence, until he was ready.
"Know what? I think you're onto something." Castiel was relieved, and pleasantly surprised, to to hear the lightness in Dean's voice, like he finally comprehended a joke he had heard. "Askin' me about if being in a male body stopped me from sleeping with you."
"Not necessarily bedding me, but yes."
"The truth? Yeah, I think I would have slept with you if you were a little curvier. A female vessel has never stopped me from sleeping with an angel."
"Anna was a unique circumstance."
"Nah, there's no point trying to defend it. It was female, I knew her, so I slept with her. Mojo or no mojo, she was still an angel to me. But," he shook his head. "But there was nothing there. She was close. It felt like any other time I screwed a chick I hardly knew, from a bar or a case or chance or whatever. But that's how I need it. A quick fix, no strings attached."
"A shadow of what you could have."
Oh God, he really wished Cas didn't say anything. He groaned. "Yeah, guess you could say that."
In this case, Dean was the shadow. In bed at 1 in the morning and gone by 5. But for those few hours he was complete with a living, breathing, sound body next to him, warm and contented with what he could offer. He had learned to stop running scenarios through his head years ago, a fantasy life he could be living with Random Woman #22. That their bed wasn't creaking and stained with liquids only God should know, but a king-sized mattress with sheets that smelled like they were straight out of the wash, in a bedroom that wasn't bordered with salt and littered with hidden firearms.
That's all it was: a shadow. A painful illusion. A vision within reach, but intangible.
Not only was Dean uncomfortable, he was now depressed.
"Then there's you, shacking up in the body of a guy named Jimmy. What kind of grown man continues to use the name 'Jimmy' anyway? Was he really that much of a nerd?"
Cas regarded Dean sternly.
"Alright, alright. Sorry. I know angels are genderless, but you're working parts are all male." He raised an eyebrow. "I am correct in assuming everything is in working order, right?"
It was Cas's turn be to uncomfortable. "You are... um."
"Come on now. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you've never found yourself alone in the woods or wherever you go when you're not following me and Sammy like a kicked puppy, thinking about me? What you'd like to do to me?"
"Dean!"
The eldest Winchester couldn't help but lean over the steering wheel in a fit of laughter. The affronted and entirely offended look on Castiel's face was too much, just too precious to keep a straight face. For all the acts of violence he has seen and committed, witnessing the evolution of the human race and scandalous acts they perpetrate, who knew he would be so bashful in a body that was not even his own? Despite his amusement, a warmth spread through his stomach again and this time he did not try to resist it.
Dean inhaled a shaky breath, calming himself enough to ask. "So, am I right?"
Cas turned his head away in a huff. "I am glad your mood has improved, though unfortunately at my expense."
Was he... was Cas pouting? "Is that a little lip I see there? I can tease you about being an idiot just fine, but one mention of you indulging in a little earthly delight and you seal up like the Ark of the Covenant."
Castiel knit his brow.
"Could have chose a better metaphor, huh?"
"Perhaps," Cas agreed gruffly.
Dean waved a hand. "But back to what I was saying. You came along, with all the power and fury of God with the biggest stick up your ass of any being that ever walked on this planet. You were an asshole then and, fuck, if I didn't want to knock your teeth out. But I dealt with you. Not like I could banish you and knowing you could at any second melt someone's insides with a snap will humble just about anyone."
Cas recalled those first couple months spent with the Winchesters. "Yes. I was... an asshole then, wasn't I?"
"You were just doing what you were told to do. You weren't supposed to be my friend. Still an asshole, though."
Cas turned back to Dean to see the man giving him the most charming and asinine grin he had ever seen on him. He wanted to grimace and look away, but was unable to. The jokes, the goofy smiles, were an attempt to camouflage the anxiety he was feeling, Cas knew, but it was helping Dean to continue talking. He wasn't entirely sure yet whom it would benefit, if it did at all. Regardless of the motive, it was endearing and easy to see how Dean could talk almost anyone into doing what he wanted. Even he did not that type of persuasive power.
"Partially due to your hardheadedness."
"'Partially,'" Dean mocked Cas's use of air quotes. "It's totally because of my hardheadedness. It's because..." He trailed off, scratching the back of his head. "I can be a dick to you because you make me feel weird. Being around you, I always felt like, like there was static, you know? A charge in the air, before an electric storm. I didn't know what it was or how to explain it, but I just didn't like it. So I do the chuckle act or turn up the snotty level to 11 to draw my attention away from it.
"But after all these years it's still there. When we're arguing, those few times we're not, now. It's never left. And it scares the shit out of me."
"Why?"
"Because I know what it means! That I'm not trying hard enough. That I'm failing. And if there's one thing I hate, besides witches, it's losing."
"It's a reminder that you're not as strong as you think you are."
"Yeah, don't rub it in," Dean brooded. "You scare me because, whether you know it or not, you're tearing me down. I've tried so damn hard to stay on a straight course," he stated emphatically, "to never let my guard down. But then you look at me. I reference some movie from the 80's and you're clueless and you look at me for an explanation; when you tell me of all the good in my soul when I still think you're full of crap, how you seem so positive of yourself and determined to make me see it too. When Sam and I are threatened, you look like the righteous one, all protective of us like a momma bird spitting holy fire. I see that," Dean spoke timidly, "and it scares me."
"Why, Dean?" He was so close. Don't stop now.
"I'm afraid of losing it. But, God, it's so much more than that." He took a shallow but shaky breath. "I want your stubbornness, I want your aggressive protection, your innocence, but I shouldn't. For so many damn reasons."
Cas wanted for nothing more than to tell Dean he revered him (no, it wasn't love, was it?) for the same reasons, to brush his hand over Dean's stubbled face, to touch him and comfort him: there's nothing wrong with the way you feel. But these were merely intentions. It was not time for that yet; the look in Dean's eyes sent a sharp signal that any attempt to soothe him would be met with resistance and he was too far along to regress now.
So, he waited. Now he would listen.
"Fuck, Cas, I," he clenched his jaw. Going out with a whimper, huh? He was not defeated; exhausted was more like it. Tired of restraint. Would he feel any better from release? Not likely, but the quick solution appeared to be the nicest. "I need you, in a way that's not normal. It's not how I should feel about a friend." Cas simply nodded. "And not just any friend, but a guy friend." He raised a hand. "I know you're technically not a guy so you don't need to bring it up again. This, this is all too fuckin' much and I don't know what's wrong with me. I–"
Outside the rain continued to fall and thunder rumbled miles away. Only feet away from them Sam was dry and warm and thankful for the wifi. Somewhere Crowley was very likely abusing one of his subordinates. In heaven angels were still fighting amongst themselves, the largest family feud in the universe. In his car Dean was talking about his feelings with an angel. If Dean could kick his own ass he would. Not only was he speaking plainly with Castiel, his emotions were tearing him in two.
"Everything I love dies, Cas, every single person. I'm beat. I can't deal with becoming attached to anyone else. I'm sick of the pain. I don't want to risk losing you too. But at the same time," he glanced outside, the same as Cas did earlier, "I sick of it controlling my life. That this fear dictates everything I say and do. 'Nope, can't be happy for a second, boy, because something is going to slit its throat and leave you high and dry, crying like a baby and we can't have you do that, right? You live the spartan life, a soldiers life. Joy will make you its bitch,'" he mocked. "But god damnit," Dean unintentionally choked out, "what's wrong with that? No matter how shit my life is, why can't I have just an ounce of peace?"
"You deserve it more than any human I have encountered," Cas spoke sincerely. "Though you think you may not. I have committed horrible atrocities against my brothers and sisters, against you and Sam, and yet you still praise me. I believe I am undeserving of that, but you will never take no for an answer. One day I hope you will see that if I can be forgiven of my transgressions, you will realize that your heart is not a curse. It is because of you that I think that... that I do deserve forgiveness."
Cas' frankness left Dean stunned. Did he really have that much of a profound effect on the angel? Speaking so openly. Was he implying that Dean's words had just as much as an effect on him as his Father's? No, that couldn't be true; that didn't sound right at all. And what was that about his heart being a blessing? Bullshit! What kind of blessing is it when the result is death?
Castiel could see the thoughts swirling in Dean's mind and smirked. "As I said, I don't expect you to believe me just yet. I think you'll begin to notice it, though. Because you always have an impact on the people you come into contact with, but you willed yourself to ignore it."
"Alright Cas, you gotta stop telling me how I'll–" He raised his voice and turned back to Cas, but his breath caught and lost all motivation to continue what he was about to say. The angel smiled all but rarely so when he did Dean thought he looked a little on the goofy side, but right now it seemed all so natural. There was nothing patronizing about it at all – pure and genuine. Blue eyes that seemed even more incandescent in the gray gloom of the day, alight with hope. So positive and sure of himself, but was it really for himself?
No: it was for Dean. A hopeful future for Dean. A demeanor that said no matter what happens today with you and I, I love you and only want the best for you, saying what Cas could not.
Despite my wants, what I wanted most of all was your happiness.
The weight of the words finally hit him, knocking all the breath out of his lungs. Pure love and pure devotion. Castiel was created with the intent of keeping his Father happy and now, here on Earth, he wanted nothing more than to see Dean the same way.
He was getting dizzy. He covered his eyes with a hand in an attempt to still his head. Not like it would work. "Happiness, huh?" He repeated, hardly breathing out the words but Cas would hear anyway.
"Could you... be happy with me?"
Oh God, he sounded like a child. A child with the voice of a drinker, but it was too damn innocent and his heart did a backflip.
Dean barked out a laugh. "I'm the one who should be asking you that. Nothing finer than a manic-depressive masochistic mate." He looked back to Cas, regaining some of his bearings. "Sure you like 'em screwed up?"
"I want to be screwed up with you," smile never faltering.
No more regrets. No more fear.
Castiel reached out a cautious hand and grasped the collar of Dean's dress shirt and just as timidly pulled Dean closer to him. He knew Cas would be bold enough to dive right in, but what he expected never came. Instead, he gently touched his forehead to Dean's and as goofy as the gesture seemed to Dean when he recalled it later, at that moment it was a far more intimate thing than he could have thought it to be.
While Cas chose to remain ignorant of personal space and had been close to him like this on many occasions, he never noticed how pleasant he smelled. Cas -his angel? Yeah, that sounded right- was like ozone and forest and if all angels had a scent he thought it would be this, compared to Dean's motor oil and what Sam lovingly called "eau de desperation."
The spark was replaced by something warmer, more secure, as if Cas did have wings on his back and was attempting to block out the world and Dean's worries. Just the two of them, quiet, breathing, closed eyes.
But Dean needed to try, soul aching for it. He had gone this far so why back down now? He raised his hand to Cas's shoulder and pulled toward him all the way, lips lightly brushing. Cas made a hum of astonishment and eyes bolted open, not expecting Dean to be direct so quickly, but who was he to raise his voice in complaint? He shut his eyes again and smiled into the kiss, remembering just how soft the Winchester's lips were, since he repaired the soul. It was so much more this time: Dean knew, he wanted it and he was more than willing to give.
This is worth giving up heaven for.
There was no moving of mountains, no explosions of stars and no breath was taken away. That sort of thing is best left to novels intended to be read by adolescent females. It was what you would expect of an angel who had never loved and a human who grew up thinking it was unobtainable: out of sync, a little sloppy, and at one point there was a click of teeth hitting teeth. Dean claimed that it was Cas's stubble that threw him off his game, that's his story and he's sticking to it. Cas did not understand the logic behind the statement, nevertheless agreeing and trying again.
Cas did enjoy trying, and did so in the weeks following. How else was Dean going to become more comfortable with trying something new unless he practiced?
And so it was, another memory and another day in the life of the silent Winchester. A gas tank half full, one thousand more miles until an oil change; transport, protector, silently and stealthily influencing those close to it. A sneaky girl she is.
As for tomorrow? There's no rest for the wicked, as they say. Back on the road, Sam in shotgun like normal, brotherly arguments leading to music being played loudly like normal, chasing down demons and monsters like normal. The only difference would be the third and now permanent passenger occupying the backseat. On special occasions he would even ride in shotgun, if Sam was feeling generous or Dean demanded him to move his ass or find himself with a penis drawn on his face in the morning. Childish threats aside, Sam would always oblige, wondering why Dean had to make threats at all.
So that's how it began, with an out-of-context question from Castiel, persistence and faith. What happens from here is much like the road they travel: long, exhausting, pinhead turns, and the occasional breakdowns. No one said they couldn't enjoy the moments in between. Honestly, you have to take a pit stop once and awhile. ("Seriously Cas, people's bladders explode. I read it on the internet so it's gotta be true.")
Cas would be there for Dean as he tested the waters of this new romantic territory, and Dean would, God help him, continue to help Cas in his quest for human understanding. Who knows? Maybe Dean might learn something too.
Yeah. Not likely.