Dean Winchester's memories of his mother are few and far between. He was only four when she was killed, far too young to hang onto anything. Hazy visions of tomato soup, Hey Jude, long blonde hair, and angels statues are about as good as it gets. Oh, and her bed time blessing.
Angels are watching over you.
As a little kid, it had always seemed true, because everything mom said was true. It reminds Dean of that horror movie, the one based on the video game about the town – mother is god in the eyes of a child. It was sure as hell true for him, and when she died, so did God and any belief Dean may have had, especially in sparkly white guardians in dresses.
He hears her voice still, when his eyes fall upon the angels on grave stones, the churches that pass by the Impala's windows. Nowadays, he snorts and his thoughts move on. No one is watching over the Winchesters, especially not anyone almighty. Dad used to, and now, it's up to Dean to watch out for Sam. There sure as hell isn't anyone watching out for Dean.
Sure, Sam watches his back. But he's the kid brother Dean has worked his whole life to protect, to keep in the dark, to keep innocent. Dean can't wake up from a nightmare and turn to his kid brother. He can't let out what's bottled inside onto his brother's shoulders. And he sure as hell can't confide all his worries and fears to him. He's gotta protect Sam – and if that means pretending there's no weaknesses in his armor, pretending he doesn't feel pain or sadness, then so be it.
He can live with being a guardian, never the guarded. Because that's just how it has to be. At night, staring up at cracked motel ceilings, he can dwell on how much it hurts, on how bone-tired he is, he can think about mom's blessing and secretly wish it were true. But in the morning, he'll get up, get the job done and keep Sam safe.
Mom believed in angels. But look what that got Mom.
Sam seems to think that, because Dean doesn't believe something's true, that means he doesn't want it to be true.
The boy's been pissed ever since the 'angel' case turned out to be a priest's spirit, and he's been moping around the motel, staring at Dean as if Dean's disbelief had made the angel go away. Truth is, Dean would've loved for it to be an angel. Something big and strong and good, down on earth, helping people? That sounds fucking awesome – and unlikely as hell. No one cares about humans. Other humans hardly care about humans.
Just because Dean knows that angels can't exist, because every day of his life has proven to him that they don't, doesn't mean he doesn't wish he were wrong.
Dean is so shocked to be alive that for a minute he doesn't notice the ring of trees that have died around him. When he does, his heart almost stops. What the hell.
He can remember Hell, mostly. It's somewhat fuzzy, as if he's hit his head and his memories have become boggled, which he supposes is a good thing. Dean doubts it'll last long. He does remember that last bit, though; the bright light, the trilling voice, the heat. A hand on his arm.
When Dean gets to the gas station, he checks his shoulder, just to see if it was all real. And there it is: a burn in the shape of a hand, proof of… something. He's still not sure what. He remembers what it told him, what it said it was, but he refuses to believe that for a second. There's no reason something like that would ever care to save him, if it even did exist. No, that's not the answer.
Better answer? Sammy, the fucking moron, went and did something. Hey, maybe that… thing… appeared to Sam, and Sam's religious mumbo-jumbo had him believing in it. God… what if he'd sold his soul to a demon, thinking it was something else? What if this thing was marauding as something good and holy to trick his brother?
He has to find Sam, quick; and after that, he's going to gank the thing that tricked him.
Wings. There are… wings.
This could be an illusion, a trick to make Dean believe. Something tells him it's not, something in the… angel's eyes, convinces him. They're bright and stunning and they pierce him like knives, like they can see right through him. He flinches from their gaze every time he happens upon them. Castiel doesn't comment, maybe he doesn't even notice. Do angels understand how intimate eye contact is?
Angel. This can't be right. Angels don't exist, and if they did, why the hell would one bother to fly down into the pit and drag him out? Footsteps echo in the barn and Dean's head snaps up; he takes an aborted step back as Castiel steps forward, but when their eyes meet, he freezes.
The angel steps way too close and he's talking, and Dean is hearing him, but he's also lost in a manic train of thought that's trying to make sense of everything. He refuses to accept what he's seeing. This is another trick of hell, a cruel ploy to make him believe he's safe. Any moment now, Alastair's laughter will rattle in his ears and he'll be back below, his heart and hopes crushed.
Dean realizes he's shaking when a hand touches his arm and he jumps, eyes snapping to it. The angel's voice is rough, almost thunderous, and now it's brushing against his ear. "Why do you not believe?"
How to explain years of misery and anguish and how it affects one's view of the world? How can he explain his mother and that angel statue above his bed, the one that burned the night his mother burned? How can he elaborate on sleepless nights in motel rooms, waiting days for any word, wondering if this is the time they'll become orphans? Contemplating what he'll have to do to protect Sammy if Dad really is dead, how they'll get by. Years of wounds and battle scars and monsters and being backed into a corner, praying that someone, anyone, will help him, his family, and never receiving any reply.
His life has taught him that the only people who care are his family, both blood and bond. For the most part, that's Sam. Dean could believe that Sam pulled him out of the pit. But an angel, named Castiel? There's no reason. It makes no sense. Why now? Why not all those times before, those thousands of times he or his family had been hurting and he'd given in and prayed to anyone to help, and nothing happened? He can't count how many times his prayers went unanswered before he finally stopped praying.
"Angels are warriors, Dean Winchester, not guardians." Castiel is speaking, and though Dean's miles away, he hears it. "You were brought back for a purpose."
Okay… okay, this he can roll with; selfish reasoning, 'greater purpose'. This fits his worldview. No one does something for nothing, no one does anything just to be nice, and Dean Winchester doesn't need a guardian, least of all a guardian angel.
Dreams of hell come to him every night without fail, though that's hardly a surprise. What is surprising is that Dean dreams of his rescue as much as he dreams of his torment.
The brilliant light, the warmth filling him to the brim, the hand so strong nothing he could do could pry it off him… the blistering wind as they soared, the feeling of being wrapped inside comfort, of being held and protected…
Sometimes, he hates those dreams more than he hates his nightmares. The bad memories are hard to shake off, but he can do it with enough alcohol and sex. But how can he deal with dreaming of perfect bliss, and waking up knowing he'll never come that close to happiness again? How can he even look Cas in the eyes, after dreams like that?
The truth is, Cas has awoken something in Dean that the hunter never knew was there; a need, a desire that runs so deep in him it has him trembling to think of it. Solid arms gripping him, a sense of peace enveloping him, the ability to just let go and know he's not going to fall. Safety.
The closest he can get to that now is to look into Cas's eyes, which shine with just a glimpse of his true, dazzling form. He can't help but stare when those eyes meet his, and he's thankful that Cas never seems to ask why; in fact, he stares back, and sometimes Dean wonders if he's looking for something.
Castiel is an angel, and as much as Dean likes the guy, admires him even, he knows there's a line between them. Maybe Cas is a more decent guy than his fellows, he's helped them out a bit, but when it comes down to it, Castiel will chose heaven. They're barely friends, let alone anything else.
Dean's not sure what he means by 'anything else', and the thought that he's not sure what exactly he wants Cas to be bothers him.
"… and I certainly don't serve you."
It stings pretty damn bad to hear it out of the horse's mouth, but it's not like Dean didn't know. He's always known; Cas is an angel, Dean's a human, and not even a very good one. What did he think would happen? They'd have a beer, talk about hell, become… something?
It still bothers Dean that he can't make head or tails of this desire for Castiel. He's never desired a man before, but then again, Cas isn't a man. He's an angel. Thinking on that, Dean realizes it's not the body he is attracted to – it's that bright light behind the blue eyes, the radiance within. Doesn't matter what body it's in.
He doesn't have a melt down from realizing he is sexually attracted to Cas. Yeah, he's in a man's body, but Dean has long since passed giving a fuck. If he had to label himself, he wouldn't consider himself straight, or gay, or bi, or anything else. At this point, past experience says he likes hookers, long weekends with single women, and Castiel. He's pretty sure that makes him a slut, and an idiot.
But it's more than sex that he wants. He still dreams of that rescue, of that star-like being holding him up. Sometimes, when he wakes in the middle of the night, tingling all over and half-hard, he wraps himself up in the sheets and pulls them taut, closes his eyes tight and pretends he's being protected, pretends he's safe enough to just let go. He doesn't jack off; he doesn't forget the gun under his pillow. He pretends.
He wonders sometimes if Castiel knows; the thought sends shivers down his spine. Surely if he knew, Dean would be smote by now? Thinking of the angel discovering his secret… kink? Or whatever, makes him harder than ever.
He is so screwed.
One; in the end, Castiel surprised the hell out of him, and chose humanity over heaven. Two; it cost him his life.
Dean stares slack jawed at the bloody mess in Chuck's house, heart pounding, guilt cutting into his heart. This is his fault; he practically begged Castiel for a chance to fix this, and not only had it cost Castiel his life, but the sacrifice hadn't even meant anything. They'd failed. Armageddon was coming anyway.
Knees going weak, Dean almost sags against the wall, his breath shuddering. For a moment, he'd seen something in Cas's eyes, something warm, something human. It was what made him chose to help, Dean thinks. It's what cost him his life. This, Dean knows will be his second greatest regret, that he never got to learn more about that spark of life in Cas's eyes. His first is the end of the world thing.
Sam's looking at him with guarded eyes, and Dean avoids his gaze. He can't let him figure out just how much this hurts, like a piece of him has been torn out. That would mean admitting just how much Cas has… had come to mean to him.
Cas being alive makes Dean feel lighter than he has in years. But after the initial euphoria and relief, comes the awkward phase.
If Dean had ever been an ordinary teenager with ordinary troubles, he imagines this is how it would have felt. Having an unrequited crush, he means. But this is no ordinary situation; Castiel is an angel, heaven wants him to be Michael's meatsuit, and the apocalypse is on its way. His stupid, cheesy desire to curl up in Cas's arms and just rest is a distraction that he really needs to move past.
Cas having turned against heaven means he spends more time with the Winchesters, and spending more time with them means more of Dean acting like a school kid with a crush. Cas, thankfully, is too dense to notice, but Sam has. Dean stumbles over words around him, stares at the guy non-stop, goes out of his way to hang with him and help him out; as his kid brother put it once, he's got it bad.
He's really beginning to second guess his sexuality again. He'd thought it was just a Cas thing; being drawn to the being within. But now, his gaze settles on Cas's body and stays there. He trembles at the resonant voice, his skin heats up at every brush of skin. It's pathetic, really.
Dean's tried spending his nights with women, trying to fuck through his fascination, but it doesn't help. He finds himself going to dark haired, bright eyed women, and he actually tried to hold one of them afterwards. But the itch doesn't go away, he can't scratch it out. Mornings after, he finds himself desiring Castiel more, as if he wants to wash the night before away.
Nothing makes it better, nothing makes it stop. The dreams have evolved into even more tempting things, dreams he used to have about old girlfriends and the lead actress of Resident Evil. Between the sexual frustration, the tempting closeness, and Castiel's obliviousness, Dean is about to lose his mind.
Then there's the night they go to the club.
The idea is to give Cas one night of human depravity before facing the Archangel ninja turtle and his almost certain death. It really doesn't go as planned, though it did turn out fun for Dean, he doesn't think Castiel enjoyed it all that much.
They're riding back to the motel together, when Castiel finally speaks up. "Human relations seem… messy."
Dean can't help the laugh that bubbles out of his throat. He blames it on the cheery feeling that's filled him since the night began. Despite the fact they spent most of it trying to find a lover for the man he wishes were his. (He hates the fact that he's secretly pleased his ploy failed.)
"Feels damn good. One of life's greatest gifts."
"How can that be?" Without even turning from the road, Dean can see the exact look on Castiel's face; the way his forehead wrinkles, brow furrowing, eyes narrow. Damn, he's got it bad. "Compared to the rest of creation…?"
Before this can turn into some kind of philosophical discussion, Dean shakes his head. "Don't knock it till you try it, all right, Cas?" He falls silent, hand going back to the wheel, when a thought occurs to him. He really shouldn't ask, but… "So, what, angels don't knock boots or anything?"
"We do not procreate as humans do, Dean." Castiel explains as if Dean is a child. Sometimes, around the angel, he feels like one.
"Yeah, okay, but what about, I dunno… how do you get close to somebody special? Or just enjoy yourselves?" Is it blasphemous to wonder if angels have sex?
"We have means of connecting, but I do not believe the sensation is the same." Dean keeps a list of words that leave him shaking when Castiel says them. Sensation is going on the list.
After all the madness with Raphael and his brother and Castiel leaving mid-conversation, Dean is eventually left in his motel room, lying awake on the bed, free to imagine every angelic form of 'connecting' he can think of.
After Castiel makes his opinion of sex known, Dean realizes that his stupid desire is even more impossible than he'd originally thought; which is why he makes a promise to himself to never let Cas know about it. It'll just make things awkward between them, and the last thing he wants is to lose what he has with Cas now.
He gets by, in the sex department. Cas saves his life plenty of times, and Dean spends restless night reimagining those scenarios, getting off on the idea of being cared for, of being saved, of being held in beige-covered arms. Dean feels dirty and foolish afterwards, every time, but it's all he has. Otherwise, he might just lose it and jump Cas at some point.
And so, for weeks, Dean kept his secret, and dealt with his "problem" in his own way. And he never did tell Castiel.
Castiel found out anyway.
The sun is setting just beyond the motel balcony, a light breeze passing through the partially open sliding door. Sam is inside, reading at the tiny dining table, hunched over stacks of books, face lit up by a dim ceiling light. Dean snorts as he turns to look at his brother. It's like a scene from Alice in Wonderland, the huge person stuck at a tiny table. Sam looks up and raises an eyebrow accusingly. Dean smirks, and turns back to the sunset.
Dean's sitting on the rusty metal lawn chair on the balcony legs perched on the railing, a beer in his hand. They've just finished a hunt, and while bandaged and bruised are fine for the most part. Sam's reading for fun (boring) and Dean is trying to pass the time in a vaguely relaxing way. The TV isn't getting anything good, and he's not really in the mood to go bar crawling.
Sighing, Dean lets his head fall back against the metal frame, closes his eyes. The first thing that comes to mind is his angel. His angel… right. Snorting, Dean lets his head slump, deciding to try and take a nap. Like that will help.
Frustration is gnawing at his throat but he knows there's nothing for it. Castiel feels no sexual desire, and while he obviously cares for Dean as a friend, his feelings are not as strong as Dean's. And yes, Dean is man enough to admit that he's fallen for the angel, that he desires his touch as much as he desires his affection. Yes, he realizes he is turning into the lead star of a dramatic romance movie, the one where the hero pines for the 'one' and sighs forlornly. Eventually, all that sighing actually gets movie heroes somewhere, usually due to sheer dumb luck. Dean doubts that will do him any good.
He's about to fall into another evening of self-pity and irritation when he hears a thump behind him. Head snapping up, Dean's already half turned in the chair when he hears Sam yell, "Cas!"
Cas is in the center of the room, and there's a lot of blood. He's on his knees, about to topple over, when Dean drops his beer and rushes to him, catching his arm. The angel hisses through clenched teeth and Dean adjusts his hold, his other arm going around the angel's back.
"Damn, Cas, what happened?" Dean manages to say, throat clenching. The vessel is torn to shreds, blood and bone showing everywhere.
"No time… explain…" Cas mutters, his usually deep voice made harsher by pain. "Hospital…"
"Hospital? You can't heal yourself?" Sam asks quickly, while at the same time, pulling out his cell phone.
"Can't… too badly wounded… cut off…" Dean's eyes are dancing frantically over Castiel's form, and he notices the angel is actually breathing, haggardly. "Jimmy needs…"
"Okay, we'll get Jimmy to a hospital, but what about you?" Dean has a really bad feeling, and it's confirmed by Cas's dark eyes meeting his. "Oh, no, come on man. There's gotta be something."
"Strain on the vessel… too much… I'm worsening…" Castiel coughs, his whole body shaking. "… hurting Jimmy…"
"But if you leave that vessel, you'll be back in heaven, right?" Sam, always the smart one, is already voicing the fears that Dean hadn't put words to yet. "If you leave Jimmy, you'll be dead meat!"
"No choice…"
Dean's heart is pounding and he feels almost dizzy, his thoughts going haywire. They can't do this, there has to be a way, has to be… "How about a new vessel?" He's almost not sure what he's saying, but then his brain catches up to his mouth. "We can keep you in somebody else until Jimmy's better."
Cas's lidded eyes meet his. "Who?" He doesn't seem to think Dean's plan holds water, but the look in his eyes changes when Dean says, "Me."
Sam's widened eyes meet his brother's. "Dean, are you sure -?"
"We've got no choice! And if I'm supposed to be Michael's vessel, then I can probably take a less powerful angel, right?" He directs this last question to Castiel, that looking at him with something new in his eyes. It almost makes his heart stop, but then Cas nods.
"You are certain?"
"Yes, dammit, now come on!"
Cas struggles to move, taking the arm Sam had been supporting and placing his palm on Dean's cheek. The other hand, trembling, takes firm hold of Dean's shoulder, right where the handprint mark is. Dean stops breathing, eyes going wide at the reality of what's about to occur. Then it comes to him: this is the end of his secrets, all of his secrets. He can't keep anything from Cas when the angel's in his head.
But that doesn't matter – losing Cas's friendship is a small price to pay to save him from being captured and tortured in heaven. At least, before losing him, he'll have held him in his very soul, as close as two beings could possibly be.
Then, he can't think anymore, because he's meeting Castiel's eyes and there's a sudden brightness, brighter than the sun, and pure heat is flooding him, like his whole body is aflame, and then nothing.
Flashes of memory, brief but distinct, fly in front of him.
Angels are watching over you
How can you believe in hell but not in heaven?
You do not think you deserved to be saved.
He's writhing in his own consciousness, submerged in himself, old memories and feelings flooding him. There's something else there, too… something blazing hot and enormous, engulfing Dean, filling him to the brim. He feels stretched, like he's being pulled in all directions, and he's burning up like he's standing on the surface of the sun.
More memories, of hell, of his rescue from hell, and how much he dwelled on that rescue, how much he craved that safety again. Unbidden, dreams and daydreams flit through his mind, fantasies of being held in Cas's arms, of making love, of whispering in the dark.
Something zeroes in on these, and more come to him: every passing thought, every little moment when Dean dwelled on Cas, on his voice, his fingers, his presence, his ever-growing humanity. The way Dean's heart stops when he smiles, the way it speeds up when he stares. How seeing the angel decimate everything from demons to vampires makes Dean's breath quicken.
Why is he thinking of these things now? And what is… but then that memory comes to him, the most recent one; Castiel in trouble, Dean offering himself… panic turns his veins to ice and Dean begins to struggle in the hold of that enormous light, which he knows the name of now.
He struggles against the hold of a thousand invisible arms, and starts screaming. "I'm sorry, Cas, I didn't mean for you to know, I didn't want to scare you off – it doesn't matter, I won't let it change anything, please, just don't – don't leave, I'll keep it to myself, I promise, I won't –"
But then he can't speak, and the iron grip tightens to the point he can't move. That blistering sun manages to brighten somehow, like it's pulsing, but it doesn't hurt. Warmth seeps into his bones, warmth and comfort, and he hears something… a language he doesn't know. He can't understand it verbally, but somehow, it calms him down.
The voice is trilling and beautiful and all around him, within him, repeating the same mantra. Slowly, Dean's heart calms, his breath slowing, while his skin begins to crawl with sensation. He's trembling, from both fear and desire, and as soon as he starts to tremble the voice begins again, louder, almost deafening.
"C – Cas…" He's practically sobbing. "I'm sorry…"
The grip tightens, and it's somehow comfortable, like an embrace. Emotions that aren't his seep into him, and they're too much, he can't hold on; the brightness, the voice, the heat overwhelm him, and he falls under.
Dean's first thought when he wakes up is what the hell hit me. He's never been this sore in his whole life. It's like every muscle and bone in his body has been torn out then haphazardly thrown back together. Sitting up is exhausting.
A hand comes to his shoulder, and Dean's blurry vision focuses upon a familiar face. "Dean, it's okay, lie back down," Sam presses him back to the bed. "Cas said you'd be exhausted, so you've got to rest for a while."
"Cas…" He remembers Jimmy being hurt, and offering to be Cas's vessel. "What…"
"Cas took over your meat suit to heal his mojo for a few days. Jimmy went to the hospital and he's fine; after Cas's mojo came back, he went back to Jimmy and healed the rest of his wounds. Everybody's fine." Sam's smiling, and the glint in his eyes is almost proud. "You did good, Dean."
The best he can do is grumble, because his tongue feels numb and his body's shaking. If this is what keeping Cas inside him feels like, he can't imagine being Michael's vessel. Just another reason to keep saying no to the bastard.
"Where… Cas…"
"He's gone. Probably went to deal with whatever attacked him in the first place." Sam says with a hint of worry. "Said he'd be back soon to check on you." Dean's heart skips a beat, and he groans, turning his head to the side. He's not looking forward to that reunion. His cheeks flush as he thinks of all the things Cas must've discovered in his head, all the secrets. He can remember some of it, how intense it was, how far down Cas dug into his mind. To be honest, he's terrified, because Cas knows everything now.
But seeing as he's practically a vegetable, he's not going to be able to get away from this. He'll just have to face up to it, and hope he hasn't screwed things up that badly.
Surprisingly, Cas doesn't show up that week, or the next. Dean actually heals and gets back to normal before Cas does so much as call.
Dean is freaking out. Castiel knows everything about him now, including his stupid crush, his attraction to Cas's human form, and his… thing… for being kept safe. Why hasn't he confronted him yet? Surely he's mad that Dean kept this from him, mad that he was fodder for a dirty human's wet dreams? The more time passes without seeing Cas, the more Dean worries.
Will they ever see Cas again? He really hopes so, but at the same time, maybe it would be better if he just left. No heartbreaking confrontation, no slamming doors, just a clean cut ending. It hurts a hell of a lot, and it will for a long time, but perhaps it's for the best.