A/n: A long-lasting story regarding the subextual romance between characters, Dean and Castiel from the Tv show; Supernatural off the CW.
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Supernatural or the characters. I do NOT own the actors or characters sexual orientation, just the story and my fantasies.
Dean
It's roughly fourteen degrees outside with the sun shining and the skies seemed to be clear as ever on that day, June seventh as of 2013. It seems like the perfect day to pitch a campfire with your little brother and a couple of friends as night begins to stretch across the vivid fresh-summer sky. Around you scatter wrappers and beer bottles here and there, not enough surely to dub you as; drunk but enough to say you've had a few, judging by the stale reek of alcohol on your tongue. You're sober enough to walk in a straight line and pronounce words sharply but as your emerald gaze aimlessly drifts to wander the starry void of the dusk-night sky, a glowing haze catches your eye and for a moment you swear its shape comes in that of a human.
Now, just a little over twelve years on the force you would think that this sight could be depicted as none other than a puny meteor, but as it hurdles closer into view with something long and what is that..? Attached? begins to near the planet more and more until contact sends noticeable trembles throughout the earths soil, knocking you nearly off-balance as the screech of startled wild life lift into flight to flee the area. Trees begin to buckle over, one nearly crushing your baby - a sleek jet-black Chevy Impala - with its brute force from whatever knocked it over. At first, it seems highly unlikely that the impact of a person could cause such a scene so you guess it had been space debris but when the distant shadow of something man-like begins to make its way impossibly to its knees, you begin to think you're crazy, but really.. Are you? Sure you've had a couple of cold ones, but you knew for a fact you weren't bitterly intoxicated. If anyone knew, it'd be yourself.
Sam, your little brother doesn't seem to stir - having had too many drinks for his own good that night after the celebration of his victory to a case that had been an apparent, 'impossible win'. Being he a bad-ass lawyer, it made sense - and despite Battle: Los Angeles going down not too far away, it didn't seem like anyone had begun to come close to the brink of consciousness. Men here and there, littering the forest floor within tents. A total of four people were there, not including yourself. Sammy, you're little bro, Bobby, an old drunk who was more a father to you and Sam than your old man ever really was, - but you'd never admit it, no doubt - Ash, a mullet-haired nincompoop-redneck-genius that everyone has just gotta love, and Garth, the oddball of the boys.
Brushing the thoughts away swiftly, your gaze doesn't waver regarding the form of the man - or what you assume to be one - several feet away. At first, light fright rises to your chest but it's dismissed by curiosity and disbelief. It wasn't possible for anyone to get up even to your knees after a fall like that.. The impact would have crushed every bone in your body if it were human. What an insane way of putting it, 'if it were human'.
Come morning you'd find 'it' in a lump of deteriorating mush. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but you force yourself to stalk forwards after drawing a nine millimetre, a permitted weapon to carry in the states, especially being a member of the Kansas police force. Though it was a small town, they were some of the best.
As you pass by your unconscious brother, drool seeping from parted lips, you nudge his side gently but when you see he hadn't stirred, you roughly begin to boot at his side as quietly as possible. A grunt escapes the tall mans lips, eyes blinking open lazily and narrowing at your appearance,
"Deeeaaaannn.." His voice is drugged by fatigue the reminder of alcohol, but you continue to prod until he is sitting upright,
"What the hell, man?" His form begins to slightly descend, but you refuse to let him drift off again and frustratingly drag his drunken-ass to his lazy feet. At first, Sam looks as though he's about to vomit but when hazel eyes lifts to see someone on their knees a few feet into the sea of nature, his breath calms,
"What? It's just some guy, man.." But as his wise and tired eyes catch the fallen trees and barren area around that figure, he begins to question physics and think up reasons about how this happened,
"The hell happened here?" Sam breathes out and leans on your shoulder for support, the reminder of the many beers he ingested beginning to take its toll.
You see as the figure's head tilts up and for a moment. You catch a flash of blue where two eyes should be and then, it's standing. But.. Something a bit is off as you notice two formations behind it's back. They're large and seem to be.. Attached? You guess it's a birth defect or something, but as the strangers structure teeters slightly, you see as they actually move to bristle with the movement.
"What the hell..?" You find yourself silently whispering, the grip on the weapon tightening significantly.
They approach closer and now the faint glow of embers within the distant fire-light begin to light up their features so you now can depict that they're male, but how are they even alive? Something was terribly wrong about this man, so you raise your weapon and open your mouth to bark out an order but you're silenced as the electric blue glow of eyes return faintly, receding to their normal shade of whatever hue. The gun now wavering in your hand, the non-human entity stalks closer and closer before you finally find the will to snarl,
"Stop right there!" You're surprised as this mans momentum comes to a halt, their head tilting ever so slightly to the side out of confusion to the voice. Another step,
"I said stop!" Another, until finally he's within spitting distance and is gazing intently into your eyes as though searching for something. The gesture rises up your suspicion and nerves against your will.
Sam at your side fidgets nervously, sensing your foreign vibe and taking a step to stop whoever this is with a significant height advantage, but a hand from the stranger is raised to your brothers forehead to press two digits against his cranium, causing him to buckle over and be rendered unconscious on the forest floor with ease.
Now, you're alone.. The stare lasts many long moments, your gun beginning to bounce uncontrollably until their intensifying look falls upon the weapon, considering the possibility of it for a moment before tilting his head to the side,
"What the hell are you..?" Your voice is hardly a whisper, fear in your heart and determined courage there as well. They seem to react to your words and then a voice gravel-deep and rough speaks out, but you don't expect at all what they say,
"Hello, Dean Winchester. They pause, mesmerizing cyan orbs ignited with pride,
"My name is Castiel.. I am an angel of the, Lord."
'My name is Castiel.. I am an angel of the lord.'
Wait what now?
I blinked a few times, the gun still bouncing within my grasp as though this were my first occasion with the damn thing. What was I so afraid of? It wasn't like this guy was for real anyways. Maybe I did have one too many drinks and this was all some drunken illusion, but as I try to pinch myself back into the world of the conscious, I catch his gaze regarding me carefully with mesmerizing blue eyes, a set of blue I have never seen belong to a human-being before,
"Like hell you are, now what are you, damn it!?" I snap, brows furrowing to the point where their gaze softens very slightly, head cocking off to the right like a damn cat,
"I told you." He breathes out calmly, cyan oculars returning to stare at the weapon pointed towards his upper torso. I could squeeze the trigger and say it slipped, or that it was out of self-defence but I couldn't will myself to pull the damn thing. What was the matter with me? I had taken out filthy-liars like this one before, along with many dirty criminals but for some reason I found this person innocent. I never could have killed an innocent person, but at this point I wasn't even sure 'it' even was human, let alone a man,
"This is your problem, Dean.. You have little to no faith." He says in a gruff tone, their head slipping back to its former angle. If I could compare this guy to anything, it'd be a frickin cat - wait what? Since when do I compare people to animals? Jeez, you're such a girl Dean Winchester.. I self-consciously curse at my self, but as I fade back into reality I could see how close this person was and how uncomfortable plus tense the situation was,
"I'd have some more if you gave me some space." I bite out roughly, glaring with emerald eyes towards this apparent, 'angel'. Whatever the hell that meant. Looking to and fro, the being named, Castiel took a necessary step back, his head dipping as though in slight shame,
"My apologies.." A gravel-deep voice replies and I do everything to argue with his formality, or whatnot. The only real person I knew who spoke like that was my damn brother Sammy. Yes, the same Sammy who was passed out just before me in a pathetic, drunken heap. Which reminds me,
"Hey, 'angel-man' what did you do to my brother?" I let out a growl, squatting to prod at my kin's and when I see he doesn't stir evening he slightest, Castiel looks confused again at the title I give him, but soon that look is replaced by rich guilt. What was with this guy anyways?
"He's alive, there's no sense in being concerned. The night is necessarily war so the possibilities of hyperthermia are next to nothing." He murmurs and I hardly catch it. For a few moments we lock stares, but I am to first to break it since I wasn't really in the mood for a damn, 'staring competition' or 'angel-games',
"Yeah, whatever.. " I shrug off his response, not really paying much attention until a hand rests on my shoulder as though reassuringly,
"I have become familiar that this is a gesture of reassurance. Your brother will be fine, Dean. Come morning, he'll wake up without the aftermath of intoxication and with the memory of the best nights sleeps he'll ever come to imagine." The dark-haired man says, and I tense up slightly at the contact,
"Okay, then.. Can you umm.. Stop touching me?" I ask a little awkwardly, not particularly fond of the 'touchy-feely' moments even if they were legit or not. The warmth on my body leaves and I feel like an ass-hole as his gaze wanders off a little hurtful. Just what I need, a sad frickin angel. If what he says is even true, but those things behind his back speak out another story. So as though on cue, his back is turned to me where my eyes could graze the informing presence appendages attached to the back of this guys body,
"Are those.. Real..?" I ask a little foolishly, feeling like an idiot for asking such an unintelligent question. He seems to sense this and turn around, the left wing twitched as though in response to my question,
"As real as your existence is, Dean." Such formality.. I bite my lip to keep from saying, returning two eyes back to stare at my brothers limp form. Come to think of it, I have never really seen him so vulnerable and small. Literally, the guy was a frickin mountain compared to me which pissed me off sometimes but it's not like he was given the choice to be this abnormally tall. I also notice the peace that's written across his features, not a single line of youthful age crinkled to the slightest. Maybe this guy named, Castiel - anyways, what kind of name was Castiel? - was right. I wondered though if he would think I was crazy the next morning when I tell him that I had the weirdest night of all time.
Yeah that'll be fun, I can just picture it now,
'Hey Sam, guess what? Last night I was sober and looking up at the pretty-pretty stars when something fell and then walked up to me saying he was a frickin angel! Cool right? Eh? Eh? Oh! He looks like a cat too when he does the head thing.' Yeah.. I wouldn't be teased forever about that at all. Just as I was about to self-consciously let out a pitifully flat chuckle at the thought, I see that the blue-eyed man is now staring again,
"Listen dude, if you actually are an angel.. Don't you think staring is a bit rude?" I ask with an abnormally smug-look. At this he seemed to be slightly taken aback at my words and furrows his brows in response, turning away soon afterwards,
"So why are you here, angel-boy?" I ask, frowning at the nickname. What else was I to call him? Castiel? Nah, that's what you call someone when they're in trouble, especially with a name like that.. What about.. 'C' or something? No, that sounded like some stripper-reject. 'Tiel? Well it made sense with his eye color but it still didn't fit..
"Cas.." My thoughts are voiced aloud, receiving a slightly confused look from the man a few feet away from my taller form, slight embarrassment cloaking my features. Way to go Winchester, you just made this all the more weird. I let out a silent breath and scratch the back of my neck for no good reason at all. This was all a lot to process after all, but I was grateful that I wasn't one of those faint-at-practically-everything-for-no-reason kind of guy. The thought rose disgust into my throat. No. Dean Winchester was nothing like that. Dean Winchester was the bad-ass cop who does what he wants and nearly gets away with it. Dean Winchester is the guy who can get any girl he wanted with the right sweet-talking. The occasional guy, but Dean Winchester no way in hell swings that way. Dean Winchester is the god of se-
"Is that an abbreviation of my name?" My thoughts are interrupted by a rough sound, and I blink my way back into the present. Wow, did I space out that often?
"Umm.. Yeah, I guess. Now, why is it you're here, Cas?" I ask, suspicion written with distrust across my features. You think this person would know a thing or two about human customs or something, but apparently not. Were all the angels up in heaven this up-tight? Realizing the context of my question, I frown and dismiss the thought from my mind. Since when did I buy anything he was telling me? Especially in, god or heaven or frickin angels?!
"I am here because it was the will of our Father." He says, seemingly unchanged by my vocal-attitude. Wait, did I just call myself moody? Perfect, just perfect,
"And that is..?" I try to pry, looking directly into those dual pair of aluminum-hard irises,
"To be the Winchester's angel."