A/N – So, after watching the episode "Free to be You and Me" a while back my friend joked: "Wouldn't it be funny if Cas got a girl pregnant?" We had a good laugh. And then we thought about it for a while and decided to each write a story with that as the prompt—a writing challenge to see where we were the same and where we differed. Well, I got a couple of chapters in and decided that I liked the prologue a whole lot more than the rest of the story, so I'm posting it now as a short story (which it was written as anyway—my favorite form of story-telling). Maybe I'll expand it into the novel-length some day.
Anyway, thank you, Anna, for accepting my challenge and for allowing me to steal your plot bunny. We've had a blast theorizing about what poor Cas would do (hours of giggling that made me feel like I was back in high school) and I hope the rest of you enjoy this little snippet about the night Dean walked Cas into a bar…
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Other Angels
Waterville, Maine
Dean was still chuckling as he sat down at the bar of a small Irish pub a mile or so down the road from the brothel they had just escaped, Castiel not far behind. The angel looked relieved, if anything, a slight half-smile still on his lips at Dean's pleasure over the scene with the prostitute. Something like embarrassment floated through the back of his mind that probably belonged to Jimmy and Castiel immediately pushed it away, taking the stool next to Dean's and watching the young bartender as she went about serving the three men opposite them. They were the only other patrons in the dark pub and the woman simply smiled at them as she poured their drinks—a fake expression meant to hide her displeasure over their lewd attempts to pick her up. Castiel could see it in her mind as he watched her, ignoring Dean as he began chewing loudly on the nuts from a small platter left on the bar. She couldn't have been much older than Sam, if even that, with dark hair and alabaster skin.
And though Castiel could see Dean's study of her from the corner of his eye, he didn't pay much attention to the mischievous set to his friend's face, simply happy to be free of his earlier scheme. The brothel behind them and thankfully out of mind, he could concentrate on the coming dawn and his plans to trap Raphael. He could concentrate on his impending death, hoping that it wouldn't come to that. Again. He rather appreciated being alive now that he had a second chance at it.
"What are we doing here, Dean?" Castiel asked at length, arranging his trench coat around his lap and clasping his hands together. "We should return to the house to gather our things before sunrise."
"Nah," Dean said. "All we need to do is swing by to pick up the oil. I grabbed a couple of matchbooks from the cathouse and have more than one lighter if those don't work. We've got everything we need, except one absent archangel. We're set." He clapped Castiel's shoulder. "Well, almost."
"You are the only one who perceives this as a problem. I'm fine."
"It is a problem," Dean replied, emphasizing his point by popping a nut into his mouth. The bartender glanced at them. "And don't think that I'm going to give up on you, either. Sammy thought the same thing and I know for a fact that he had a super sweet sixteen thanks to me."
Castiel only frowned. He considered denouncing Dean but figured it would only be a waste of breath, so remained silent on that topic. "Then I reiterate: What are we doing here?"
"Refueling. I think that might have been the heart of your problem."
"I assure you that it was not."
"Whatever," Dean said, finally catching the bartender's attention and smiling. She just narrowed her eyes at him as she put away several bottles of whiskey, still not moving to help them. It didn't seem to deter Dean in the least. Castiel sighed.
Before long, however, she made her way down the length of the bar to where they were sitting. Wiping her hands on the apron she wore to protect a pair of beat-up jeans, she straightened her black tank and the silver chain of a necklace that disappeared into the top of it before leaning across from Dean, a smile lighting her face. There was a certain amount of trepidation in the expression, considering what she had just experienced, but there was also a strange hope that Castiel could read in it, as if she had faith that her night couldn't get any worse. He hadn't been able to hear exactly what the men had said, but it could have very well embarrassed even Dean.
"Hello, boys," she said, her voice holding a slight accent. "What can I do for you two tonight?"
Dean threw an amused look in Castiel's direction before answering. The angel swallowed once, watching Dean. "My friend here needs a drink. Hell, I need a drink, too."
"I figured as much," she replied, though without the annoyed tone she had used with the other men. "I mean, pub." She pointed at the solid wood bar she was leaning on. "Are you going to make me ask again?"
Dean's smile widened; Castiel continued to watch the side of his face. "Why not surprise us with something?"
"Anything?" She glanced over her shoulder at a small jar filled with pink drink umbrellas before turning back to Dean. "Because I can be pretty creative when I set my mind to it."
Castiel turned his attention away from his friend and instead followed the direction the woman had just glanced, narrowing his eyes at the umbrellas trying to figure them out. They didn't quite fit with the otherwise masculine décor of the pub and he wondered if they were meant to be some kind of a joke he didn't understand. They certainly seemed like the set-up to something humorous, so far as he could gather from Dean's reaction. Humans, he thought.
"How about anything that won't get us beat up," Dean was saying as Castiel continued his study of the strange paper objects. "Preferably of the beer variety."
The bartender's smile widened. "Ah. Well, I don't know if I'll be doing much surprising, then."
"Oh?" Dean asked.
She gestured at the pub with her chin while pulling out a couple of glasses. There were a few neon signs behind her and more hanging in the windows, as well as a number of scattered decorations that were distinctively Irish. "Take a look at where you are." She pulled the Guinness tap as she said it. "And guess at what we might have filling our basement besides potatoes and small children."
Potatoes? Castiel frowned.
Dean shrugged, apparently unfazed. "I'd put my money on barrels of Guinness."
"Mmm, we've a winner on our hands," she said, finishing the first glass. "I don't have any prizes, though. At best I can give you a high-five. Maybe some nuts."
"I'll take anything I can get," Dean said, still smiling. Castiel turned to look at him once more. "And how about a name for my friend's consolation prize."
"Well, I usually don't give it out just like that," she said, starting on the second pint. "And I usually don't give it away unless the guy can get it up to ask me himself."
"I sense a but," Dean prompted. The bartender shrugged as she brought them their drinks.
"But he doesn't look like he'd survive a car bomb, not the way he's shaking." She pushed the two pints across the bar and gave Castiel a once over as she did. Her lashes were long and as dark as her hair, her eyes an emerald green that looked almost black in the dim light. They flashed in the neon light as she smiled at Castiel's sudden concern.
"Car bomb?" His voice rose in timbre. She laughed lightly.
"So, you do speak."
"He's shy," Dean cut in before Castiel could respond.
"I gathered," the bartender said. "Though I'd rather hear him say something for a change now that I know he's not mute. I hate mouthpieces." She lifted her brow at Dean and Castiel found himself chuckling, which earned a grin from the bartender. Dean just muttered something into his drink and threw the angel a dirty look.
"My name's Sarah," she said to Castiel, ignoring Dean.
"Castiel," he replied.
"That's an unusual name."
"He's an unusual guy," Dean interjected once more. Sarah narrowed her eyes at him. Dean just smiled. "How about that high-five?"
"Of course." She held up her hand, bangles of various metals and plastics clinking down her forearm, and Dean met it with his. Castiel studied them. And when she turned her outstretched hand towards him for the same reward, he just stared at it, tilting his head slightly to one side before glancing at Dean from the corner of his eye. Dean gestured the action and Castiel's imitation was poor at best. Sarah laughed once more. "Maybe it's a good thing I'm not forcing the car bombs on you, Castiel. You boys wander in here from next door?"
Dean gestured vaguely with his forehead. "A couple of doors down, actually. He's still recovering."
She looked at Castiel and then back to Dean, leaning against the bar with her hip as she did. "Should I even ask?"
Dean grinned. "I'm just trying to give him a good time before he leaves in the morning. See, Cas here is a soldier." He took his first swig of the Guinness while Castiel was already working his way through the second half of his. He didn't like where Dean was going with this.
"A soldier?" Sarah said, breaking through Castiel's thoughts. He took another good gulp of the beer, hoping it would calm his nerves and knowing that it would take a lot more alcohol to have any affect on him whatsoever. Sarah went on, "I used to hang out with pilots. Sent a couple of them off to war, too."
"Did you, now?" Dean said.
Castiel continued to drink. Sarah shrugged. "Oh, you know. College."
Dean grinned. "I can imagine."
"Well don't go imagining too hard, mouthpiece." She continued to smile, however, as she turned her attention back to Castiel, who had already finished his beer. "Care for another one, there? I'll even put it on the house. I've a soft spot for soldiers."
Castiel nodded, wanting something to do to distract himself from what Dean was trying to do and not quite sure why he didn't just leave. All he had to do was think about it…
"You could speak up, you know," Dean hissed as Sarah walked away. "I'm doing this for you."
"Really, Dean, don't you think we've had enough excitement for one evening?"
Dean lifted his brow and snorted out a laugh. "Not even by a long shot, buddy. Don't think I'm giving up on getting you laid. You already died once before I could get to you. No way it's happening again."
"Her?" Castiel said, watching Sarah as she went about getting another beer together. "This isn't," he paused, "is it? I'm a little confused."
A smile spread across Dean's face. "Another 'den of iniquity'? Nope, not one of them. Just a bar." He paused to take a drink. "This isn't going to be quite as easy as it might have otherwise been. Thanks to you, I might point out. If you had just kept your mouth shut then you'd have been done right about now."
"Sorry."
"No need to apologize to me."
Castiel nodded once before looking for Sarah, who had disappeared, the beer still only half-full at the tap. "I haven't anything to say to her."
"You could try small talk. I mean, she already seems to like you, so it shouldn't be too hard."
Castiel just narrowed his eyes at him. "You don't seem to have a very good opinion of the woman's intelligence."
"What d'you mean? I love women." Dean's smile seemed to falter, though. "Small talk, try it."
"That's not exactly a skill they teach in Heaven."
Dean just shrugged, sipping at his beer. "Compliment her, then."
This time, Castiel frowned. "I don't have a choice in this matter, do I?"
"Nope."
The angel sighed. "I'd rather not scare her away."
"Believe me, Cas, I won't let you do any more scaring tonight."
Castiel pressed his lips together and studied his empty glass for a moment before going on, hating himself a little. This was not exactly his idea of a good time. "What should I say, then? Tell her that she's made a good life for herself despite her mother's disapproval of her leaving law school?"
Dean shook his head. "Scary, dude. Try something simpler, like telling her she's pretty."
The angel moistened his lower lip and looked up at Sarah as she came back.
"Sorry about the delay," she said. "I had to fix some tubing downstairs, which is never pleasant." She looked at Castiel as she put the new beer in front of him, a bottle of whiskey in the other hand, a slight smile on her face. "There are some pretty big rats down there. Big drunk rats." She filled a shot glass and pushed it across the bar. "For the wait."
Castiel looked at it.
"It's free," Sarah insisted. The angel frowned.
"You don't like rats?" He asked after a moment, glancing at Dean as the other man gestured taking a shot. He hesitated before following his friend's example once more, nearly choking as the alcohol burned its way down his throat and wondering not for the first time that night what the hell he was doing. Dean's laughter echoed through the back of his mind though his friend had remained silent.
Sarah just shrugged at the question, ignoring his struggle. "I'm perfectly fine with them if they keep their distance. I don't even set up traps. Live and let live."
"I understand them to be vermin." Castiel started on the second beer the moment he put the empty shot glass down. It still appeared to have no affect on him, though he was starting to drink without thinking about it. Earlier, he had been hard-pressed to take even a sip.
"Peacocks are vermin," Sarah went on to say, pouring another shot though he hadn't asked for it, whiskey sloshing over the rim. "The rats are just trying to live their lives, so who am I to say they can't?"
Castiel's face went through a range of expressions, settling finally on confusion as he put the half-empty glass down. Sarah's eyes flickered to it.
"Peacocks?"
She chuckled as she pulled a towel out of her back pocket to wipe up the whiskey spill. "Every time I go to the zoo I manage to get chased by the damn peacocks they let wander around. Honest-to-God demons. I hate them."
Castiel and Dean exchanged a glance that Sarah didn't seem to notice as she glanced over her shoulder and away from them. The other three men were getting up to leave, stumbling over themselves as they left the bar empty of any tip. The muscles in Sarah's jaw tightened.
"I don't think demons possess peacocks," Castiel said, looking at the shot glass and seriously considering consuming it as well. Why not? Sarah turned a look on him as he said, "They tend to stick to humans."
"Right. My bad," she said slowly. "I must have missed that day of Sunday school."
Castiel took the shot, chasing it with the rest of his beer. Dean was beaming with pride.
"Awesome," he muttered. Neither Castiel nor Sarah looked at him.
"It's not your fault," Castiel went on to say. "Demons have only recently become a common occurrence, though they have always tried to get out of Hell whenever the opportunity presented itself. The only difference now is that the gate is open. Wide open. Sam's fault." He made a gesture of opening gates with his hands, accompanying it with a little sound affect. Sarah just narrowed her eyes at him and Castiel took a look at the empty glasses, wondering if the alcohol was starting to affect him after all.
"Ignore him," Dean was saying, though the angel paid him no attention.
"Why? He's amusing." Her smile was obvious, though he wasn't looking at her, either.
Instead, Castiel was studying his hands and found that it was a little harder to think than usual. How much had Dean poured down his throat, now? He'd lost track. There was the bar before the brothel, the brothel itself, and now this place. And while it was nice to have something to distract himself from his rebellion up until now, his wandering mind found its way back much too quickly, a strange and terrible emotion rushing through his body. He had heard humans speak of sadness for many years but had never experienced it. Was this what it felt like? Dean's voice cut into his thoughts.
"Who, Cas? Yeah, he's a real hoot most of the time." Dean put his empty glass on the bar. "I've got to piss."
A frown crossed Sarah's face. "The toilets are in the back."
"Thanks." Dean got up from his stool and looked in the direction Sarah was pointing before heading that way. Castiel turned to watch Dean's retreat and studied the door he disappeared through before turning back to Sarah, who had switched out the towel for a wet rag.
"My apologies," he said at length. Sarah just looked up.
"For what?" she replied, continuing to clean.
"My friend. Dean. He can be overbearing."
Sarah smiled lightly as she tossed the rag into a nearby sink. "Don't worry about it," she said, drying her hands on her apron. "I meet a lot of guys working here and he's not the first of his kind and certainly won't be the last. I've developed a hide to put on whenever I encounter someone like him. He's got an idea in his head about you, hasn't he?"
Castiel nodded slowly. "He is correct in his assessment of the situation, but is brash. And determined. I don't think he will let me rest until he sees it through."
"Sees what through?" Sarah came around the bar and perched herself on the stool left behind by Dean. It wasn't until then that Castiel noticed the lean build of her body or how she was nearly as tall as he despite the flat shoes she wore. Normally he didn't bother with such observations and wasn't exactly sure why he did now. It was probably the alcohol. Still, he watched her loose curls where they fell over her shoulders as she leaned towards him, her eyes narrowing slightly in concern. Castiel gestured something meaningless.
"My send off."
"So, he's looking to get you laid."
He frowned. "If you must put it so crudely."
Sarah shook her head at him, a light smile touching her features. "You're so strange, Castiel."
"Pardon?"
"In a good way," she said quickly, a blush rising in her cheeks. "Like I said, I meet a lot of guys like him and most of them are exponentially worse." Castiel smiled, which made Sarah's smile widen even more. "But you? You're nervous. I'm going to take a stab and say it's the war. My soldiers were all nervous, too."
"I have accepted my fate, so far as the war goes," he said, though was very much convinced they were speaking of different wars. He knew of the conflict in the Middle East.
Her smile softened, then, and she brushed at her curls, twirling them around one finger as she glanced away. Castiel watched it, though not sure why, and could almost hear the discussion she was having with herself, her head tilting to one side before looking back at him, her mind silent once more.
"I like you, Castiel," she said, lifting her hand to push a loose strand of hair across his forehead, her fingers brushing his skin. He turned back to her, looking into her eyes, and was surprised when she didn't flinch away from his study of her. Most humans he knew did. Instead, she chuckled lightly. "I take it you've never picked up a bartender before."
"No."
"And I'm guessing that this isn't his first attempt of the night to get you in someone's bed." She bit her lower lip, trepidation flashing once more through her features and Castiel found his hand moving as if to comfort her. He couldn't have explained why if asked.
Empathy, the back of his mind thought before he replied, "No. Sorry."
She shook her head. "Don't apologize. Like I said, I've a soft spot for soldiers." She glanced away again and took in a breath before touching his knee with the tip of one finger. "Just give me a minute."
Castiel's eyes widened impossibly. To say the least, he hadn't expected that particular turn of events, but Sarah was already across the bar flipping the Open sign Closed, so missed his expression of utter surprise in her sudden haste. There were still remnants of it remaining once she returned to his side, but his face had morphed to an expression of concern.
"Why?" was all he could say.
"Because there's something about you," she said, brushing his cheek with her thumb. "And because I've seen too many of our boys go off to fight without a lasting memory to bring them back home. Now, don't go thinking that I do this for every soldier who finds his way into my bar. I'm not like the girls down the street." She smiled, taking Castiel's hand. "And I'm pretty sure you know exactly which girls I'm talking about. We serve a lot of people here who come from just a few doors down."
"How do you know where we came from?" Castiel asked, following Sarah as she led him out of the main room, nothing in the strange murk of his mind causing him to hesitate. Glancing back over his shoulder before the door closed behind them, Castiel saw Dean's grin as he came back into the bar, and then his thumbs up.
"Because most of them look like your friend there. The same stupid grins. Not many of them look like you." She led him up a flight of stairs and down the length of a rather dark corridor, dropping his hand only to fetch a set of keys from the pocket of her jeans. "I take it you've never been to one of those before."
"You're very perceptive."
"I work in a bar," she replied, jiggling at the doorknob and turning the key in the deadlock, muttering "damn stupid lock," as she did.
Castiel watched her struggle without offering any help. "I don't understand."
Sarah looked at him over her shoulder as she finally got the door to open, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a smile. "I'm practically a therapist."
She didn't bother turning on a lamp considering what flooded in through the large windows opposite them. It came from the business next door and illuminated the small room, its bed and kitchenette. It looked like any one of the motel rooms Dean tended to sleep in, though with the sense of being someone's home. There was a white bedspread thrown haphazardly across the mattress and gossamer curtains that blew with a slight breeze coming in through the open windows. A small table in the corner held a vase of wilting flowers along with a box of paints and brushes that complimented the three occupied easels and numerous finished paintings that lined the walls, three or four canvases thick in most places. Sarah seemed to catch his study of the room.
"Home sweet home," she said, dropping her keys on the little table next to the door. "I blew into town six months ago out of money and gas and just sort of landed here." She shrugged when he didn't respond, still taking in the details, a slight jitter in his hand as he tried to calm his nerves. Sarah went on to say, "It beats living out of a hotel, at least. Can't keep my paintings safe in one of those."
"You're an artist."
She raised her brow slightly. "I suppose. I don't have any formal training, though, just lots of man-hours and free time. Haven't sold any, either."
Castiel nodded slightly as he crossed the room, kneeling in front of one of the piles and pulling back the top canvas, and then the next. Each held a different splash of color—faces made of blue, green, yellow, and bits of ripped up, painted-over paper and gauze; flowers in black and gray and strokes of red. Some were paintings of landscapes, others of buildings and streetscapes. He looked through another pile and then another. This must have been what disappointed her mother, he thought; a life of impoverished painting as opposed to a life spent defending the poor. She seemed happy, though. He looked over his shoulder.
"These are nice."
Sarah had wrapped her arms around her body in the time he spent looking at her work, her weight on one foot. A smile crossed her lips. "Thanks."
He nodded as he stood. "You shouldn't let your critics stop you from living the life you want to live."
She furrowed her brow and looked past him towards the piles of paintings and those she had yet to finish. "I'm the perceptive one, eh?"
"You're good," he insisted. Sarah laughed lightly and closed the distance between them.
"Look, you're already in my room, you don't have to try to charm me now."
"I'm not trying to charm you," he said, tilting his head to one side. "I'm just telling you the truth."
"Then stop." She brushed his thumb with the tips of her fingers.
"Why?" The slight jitter in his hand returned now and began to spread to the other muscles of his body. Something in the back of his mind, however, pulsed with anticipation. It came from the little area that Jimmy occupied; the part that grew excited whenever Castiel bothered to consume food or do anything vaguely human.
"Because you're going to make me like you even more than I already do and I really don't want to have to think about you in the morning. It's just easier that way," she said, whispering now. "When do you leave anyway?"
"Before dawn," he replied, lowering his voice to the same volume, though he wasn't exactly sure why, confused about how he should respond to her. She wasn't like that woman Chastity, who had been forward with him. In fact, she was barely touching him at all, one finger touching the back of his hand, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest bringing them closer and further apart with each breath she took. Tilting her chin slightly, she looked into his eyes and he responded with a creased brow.
"That's about how I remember it," she said. He could feel her breath on his lips. "You're allowed to touch me, you know."
"Ah."
A smile parted her lips as she looked towards his right hand where it remained next to his body. "Should I be so bold as to assume that I fell for a line about this being your last night around and that your friend was simply trying to help a guy out with something he perceives as a problem? I saw the movie."
"I am a warrior of…" Castiel paused. "I am a soldier. Dean wasn't lying."
"But you're not going anywhere are you?"
"I have something to take care of in the morning," he said. "And I don't know if I'm going to survive it."
"Again with the lines."
"I'm not…" he paused again, this time with a sigh. "I'm not lying."
Sarah didn't say anything for a long time, staring at a spot on the floor before shifting her gaze to his shoulder and finally back up to meet his. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay," she said, taking his hand in hers. She crossed her other hand through the narrow gap between their bodies and lifted her shirt, placing his fingers on her skin. His nervous quake incited a shiver in her. "You're warm," she said.
"I was born of fire," he replied before he could stop himself. She moved his hand on her skin before taking up the other to start its exploration of her and Castiel found that it didn't feel quite as awkward as he might have thought. Uncomfortably intimate, yes, but at least someone in his head knew what was going on and he surrendered a little to the baser instincts of his vessel.
Sarah eventually left his hands to roam on their own and turned her attention to his tie, undoing it and dropping it to the floor, loosening the buttons on his shirt once done. Castiel found himself removing her tank top from where it had hitched up under her arms; it seemed the natural thing to do.
"So now you're claiming to be an angel?" she whispered into his jaw.
He didn't respond, though, his attention captivated by the mirror on the other side of the room and the reflection of an intricate tattoo that decorated her back. A crucifix of the Celtic tradition crossed the skin under her shoulder blades and down the length of her spine. Tiny spheres encircled her shoulders, her collar bone: a rosary. He found the cross with his fingers, tracing the design though he couldn't have felt it. Sarah shivered once more.
"We all have our battle scars," she said softly, pressing a kiss to the skin of his shoulder. "Catholic guilt lasts forever." Something warm clinked against his stomach but he ignored it as he traced the lines of her tattoo once more before straightening to take up her face in his hands, looking into her, trying not to read her history. He would have asked what she meant by it had he not suddenly noticed the charms hanging between her breasts—the same ones that had touched him. Dog tags with a name that wasn't her own. Even he understood those.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be." She put her hands on his waist. "You haven't anything to apologize for."
He searched her eyes for a moment and she seemed to be doing the same. A smile crossed her lips, then, that once more crinkled the skin around her eyes and Castiel's lips broke in a slight smile as well, though it was one of confusion.
Sarah spoke first. "This isn't exactly how I imagined this going. You're…gentle." She sighed. "You're different from any other soldier I've met."
"I am." It wasn't a question.
Her smile widened a little. "That's right, because you're an angel. My father was an angel, too," she added quietly. Castiel brushed a thumb over her cheek. He wanted to say something about her father, about how the major had done everything he could to keep his helicopter in the air and his crew safe. He wanted to tell her that his Father still loved her, that He would always love her; he wanted to make her happy even though he didn't know her, but Dean's voice rose in the back of his mind, as did the scream of the whore. He had learned his lesson and wouldn't scare anyone else off tonight. So when Sarah touched his lips with a kiss, he pushed his thoughts from his mind and did his best to work this strange human body of his.
Sarah didn't seem to notice his unease as she worked first through the rest of his clothing and then through her own, her lips never straying far from his skin. And as Castiel grew more comfortable, he took his cues from her, his confidence in this odd human act growing. Her skin was cool under his touch, the muscles of her back and belly sliding beneath his fingers; her hand touching his ribs, his shoulders.
And as she pulled him down and onto the sheets of her bed, he began to understand why Dean had been so insistent on him experiencing this kind of contact, though not for the same pleasure-seeking reasons his friend had imagined. He began to understand why Anna had fallen and something about the short-lived, emotional lives of his Father's favorites. They didn't have the weight that came with eternity. He could see it in her eyes as she lay there beneath him, her hair a dark halo on the sheets. They didn't have the ability to see past, present, and future. They were unburdened by the finite knowledge of their kind and couldn't see or know everything that he knew. He was glad for it. A small part of him even wished that he could experience the same.
He had never despised humans like so many of his brothers and sisters did. They were each of them small miracles capable of doing things he couldn't even imagine. Some of the angels were jealous of their lack of inhibition, others thought they were a waste of space—vile—but never once had Castiel seen them in such a light. He found them fascinating, if not more than a little odd. Maybe one day he would understand them and the things they did, but it didn't seem likely, not even after these thousands of years.
"Castiel," she breathed, spreading the fingers of one hand over his chest. Something shot through him at the sound of his name on her lips.
There was no way this woman could know what he was, despite her joking, and there was no way she could know what was going on in the world around them. She seemed happy despite her misfortune and as she touched him, he found that he wanted to protect her from any further pain. Knowing that Lucifer and his Apocalypse were here to take her planet away was no way to relieve the doubt brought on by her father's death. But it wasn't only Sarah he wanted to save; he wanted to protect the innocence of as many as he could and the only way to do that was to help Dean with his ridiculous scheme. He knew that now.
But as she whispered his name again, Castiel pushed the thought of his friend from his mind. Dean had no place in it, not right now. Not right here. There was only room for Sarah. Her scent. Her taste. There was only room for the length of her body where it wrapped around his and the sound of her voice in his ear. And for the first time that night, he was happy that he had scared the woman who called herself Chastity. He was happy that they had to escape that despicable place and that they had retreated here to Sarah's bar.
And as she fell asleep next to him, a new love swelled in his breast for this magnificent creation. They weren't bound by the restrictions of his kind, nor where they watched every moment of their existence. He had muttered an incantation some time ago, hoping to turn heavenly eyes away from his activities and the woman who would feel their wrath for tempting an angel, even a rebellious one. Still, his eyes strayed towards the ceiling, wondering if it had worked. They had been warned against this for the entirety of their existence. They had been told to not associate with humans in any unnecessary way. Protect them, yes, love them, of course, but never engage with them in such activities. It had happened once already and they were all punished terribly for the mistakes of his brothers.
But he pushed it from his mind and turned his gaze back to Sarah. She still held his hand in her sleep, her shoulders lifting lightly with each breath that she took. He had spent years watching over them as they slept, but never with such awe. Or with such guilt. None of his brothers could know of this nor would he let harm befall her if he could help it.
Disengaging his fingers from hers, he stood slowly and crossed the room in the pre-dawn light to where his clothes lay in a pile, dressing quickly. Sarah made a small sound in her sleep before rolling onto her stomach and pulling the sheet to her chin, a light smile on her face. Castiel watched her for a moment longer, his eyes tracing the length of her covered body before writing something on a piece of paper and placing it next to her keys. Reaching for the door, he suddenly remembered the roar of the Impala's engine. Dean was gone.
No matter, he thought briefly, narrowing his eyes and hoping that the sound of his leaving wouldn't wake Sarah.
A moment later, he was in the run-down living room of the house he had left the evening before. Dean was at work cleaning his various weapons and didn't notice his entrance at first. When he did, he put down the shotgun he was working on, a grin splitting his face.
Castiel crossed the floor, frowning. "Happy?
"Ecstatic, but I don't think you're the one who's supposed to be asking that. How'd it go, buddy?"
"Fine," he replied, taking a seat and inspecting the remaining oil before turning a glance on the circle Dean had already poured.
"C'mon, Cas," Dean said. "Don't leave me with that."
Castiel turned his eyes on his friend and lifted his brow. "We should go." He stood again, taking up the cistern in his grip.
"I think I deserve some details considering the trouble I went through for you." Dean crossed his arms over his chest, evidence that he wasn't moving until the angel gave something up. Castiel sighed.
"She was…energetic."
Dean's laughter filled the room and Castiel tilted his head to one side, studying the other man in his usual manner. He considered going on, though didn't want to. Luckily, his single statement was enough to get Dean moving again. He slapped Castiel once on the shoulder, chuckling.
"Let's go get this son of a bitch."