Chapter 1
Dean's nose was still clogged up with blood and his left eye too swollen to open it. And yet, he could have cared less about his fractured nose and cracked ribs. Everything hurt, and not from Lucifer's relentless punches. Tears still ran silently down Dean's cheeks.
He just watched his brother jump into the deepest abyss of hell without any chance to get him out ever again. Sam made him promise to let it rest, don't risk it again and yet, every fiber of Dean wanted to either jump after him or bring him back.
Bobby eyed him cautiously from behind the wheel of the Impala every few minutes, but Dean had no intention other than to not choke on his own blood right now. Which took him enough effort as it was. He leaned his head against the passenger side door and tried to breathe steady and calm, ignoring the big, giant lump in his throat and the block of cement that lay heavy on his chest.
Not an insignificant amount of him simply wanted to die.
Despite his promise to Sam to get out, to have that apple pie life without the daily dangers of a hunter – it had lost the appeal when the realization hit that Dean would have to do it on his own.
Without his brother, who was currently rotting in hell, in the cage with Michael and Lucifer.
And without his best friend, whose insides lay splattered in a circle on that graveyard outside of Lawrence.
Bobby had been knocked unconscious after Michael had flung him against a nearby headstone and therefore didn't end up dead or beat up six ways from Sunday the way Dean had. Which was a small mercy, since Bobby was the one who drove him home right now. He didn't say a word, hadn't said a word after Dean had summarized the events since he had been knocked out.
Dean didn't want to talk, and probably couldn't, anyway. His lips were split open and swollen, his jaw probably cracked at a few points. Everything hurt.
What a great way to start a new life without two of the most important people in his life.
When they finally reached Bobby's salvage yard, Bobby hauled him inside the house, sat him down in the living room and cleaned and stitched him up. Dean was apathetic, staring into space and let Bobby do his thing. Without another word, the older hunter opened the last bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label, in honor to Sam and Castiel, who had lost their life that day on the battlefield, fighting Michael and Lucifer, saving the world by preventing the apocalypse.
But at what cost.
One week later finds Bobby and Dean sitting on the porch with beers in their hands, quiet and without saying anything for hours, brooding and staring into space. It's cloudy, has been for days now, and the depressing weather fits their mood perfectly. Due to Dean's several broken bones and his general physical condition, they haven't been particularly productive those past few days. Bobby works the phones for Rufus, and otherwise, it's sitting around the house and drinking their pain away.
Dean feels completely numb inside.
Which may or may not be the depression from losing his brother and his best friend. Dean likes to think it's the painkillers and the whiskey.
He spins the bottle of beer in his hands, scratches at the label.
The past week has been the worst week of all his life. And if he recalls his pretty shitty life correctly, that's saying something.
It took him the first night to even realize in full what had happened. Waking up the morning after, Dean had barely managed to roll out of bed, if Bobby hadn't been so persistent and practically had kicked his ass out of bed. Dean hadn't eaten for days after that, too consumed with grief and worry and self-pity. Not that he didn't notice that Bobby wasn't holding up much better, but at least he tried to be strong for Dean, too.
Which Dean, for the record, has given up on once and for all. He's done. He lost too much.
Dean snorts, trying to get his bandaged nose free from the tears that are threatening to fall yet again. It's pathetic- He's pathetic, and he knows it.
The sound of fluttering wings, so familiar that Dean thinks he imagined it, breaks their companionable silence. Dean's head whips around, eyes searching desperately for his duffel bag. The one with the two angel blades in it.
Cas is dead, and if there's another angel here, that can't be a good sign.
But he's too late. The intruder stands in the shadows between Bobby's desk and the door to the porch. And the duffel... lays right beside the desk on the floor. Just peachy.
Panic starts to rise in Dean's chest as he jumps to his feet and takes a step back from the strange person, who in return also steps forward, out of the shadows and into the pale afternoon light. It's a woman, probably in her mid-twenties, with long auburn hair and stunning brown eyes. Her mouth is a sinful red, and if it had been any other day when Dean's not currently wallowing in grief, he would've hit on her so hard her head would spin. She's drop-dead gorgeous, wearing a simple black suit and white blouse underneath. A necklace with a round, ocean blue stone rests on her collarbone.
But then again, this has to be an angel, and Dean hasn't seen this vessel ever before. Every alarm in his head goes off at once.
"Hello, Dean," she says.
Her voice is deep for a woman's, but it's the tone that makes Dean perk up. "Who are you?" he asks in lieu of a greeting.
His frown doesn't seem to bother her, Dean notices, because her stoic face shows off a small, yet again all too familiar lopsided smile. "Excuse my appearance, I know it must bother you," she starts, looking straight into Dean's eyes, "but I had to find a new vessel, seeing as Jimmy was blown up by Lucifer."
Dean blinks in disbelief. The last piece of the puzzle in front of him clicks into place, and scales fall from Dean's eyes. "Cas?" he asks in disbelief, his voice dry and raspy.
"Yes," she confirms, that little smile still on her lips. "And this," she adds, running a hand over her suit jacket the way the angel had done with Jimmy's trench coat all those years ago, "is Danneel. She was an actress."
It's weird, way too weird to think of Castiel as her, Dean states to himself. Sure, he has always known that angels were genderless, but Cas... Cas is a he, always has been, always will be.
Still, Dean has got more important things on his mind right now. Like the fact that Cas isn't as dead as he thought he was, and for a moment, relief and joy flow with surprising intensity through Dean's abused body. He huffs out a short laugh before stepping up to Castiel to hug him tightly.
The girl, his vessel, is by no means short, but she's thin like a model and Dean can easily wrap her up in his arms. After a bit of fumbling around, Cas's hands come up around Dean's waist and settle on his lower back. A few seconds later, when the moment is definitely gone – even though Dean may or may not have held on to that hug a bit longer than necessary, but Cas would never notice – Dean steps back, also smiling now.
"So who brought you back?" Bobby asks from behind Dean.
Dean almost forgot that the older hunter is here as well.
"I think it was God who interfered. And - he didn't just bring me back," Cas explains with a secretive look on his face as he steps towards Dean again.
Before he's able to do so much as blink, Dean feels two fingers – smaller, less calloused ones than he remembers – press against his forehead, and the next second, he's healed. His nose is free, he can breathe without any pain from his ribs, and the cuts on his face are gone. He takes off the bandage from his nose with an amused huff. "Thanks," he says quietly, a bit clipped off, because his bodily wounds were never the ones that hurt most during the past days.
Cas dismisses him with his usual, matter-of-fact look. "You're welcome."
"So you're a full-blown angel again, huh?" Dean adds for good measure, feeling frustration and disappointment build up.
"Well, yes," is Cas' unfazed answer.
"Good for you, then," Dean says bitterly through clenched teeth.
"What do you mean?"
Dean nods to himself absentmindedly. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're back, all new and improved and all that. But you can tell your boss upstairs that I'm coming for him next."
Cas tilts his head to the side, that trademark gesture of his that seems so out of place when there's long, auburn hair falling down on his shoulders with it. "You're angry."
"Yeah, well, no thanks to God for saving my brother, who's rotting in hell right now, you know."
Awkward, tensed silence fills the room.
"I'll see what I can do," Cas nods and flies off in a flutter of wings.
Dean doesn't hear or see Castiel for two more days, until he steps into the kitchen on the morning of the third day, and finds Sam. Sam, walking in from the living room and rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes like he just woke up.
With his hunter senses kicking in full force, Dean manages to wrestle Sam down to the floor, despite his constant protests, and to pour holy water over him. Then Dean cuts him tentatively with a silver knife.
But it's Sam. It's really, really Sam.
Dean can't believe his luck as he wraps his arms around his brother and squeezes him as tightly as possible.
"Dude, I've never been happier to see you," he gasps breathlessly.
"Right back at you," Sam huffs, the smile obvious in his voice.
When they break apart, it's Cas in his new, female vessel who stands beside them, watching them.
"Who's that?" Sam blurts out, startled by the sudden appearance of the angel.
"Cas," Dean explains with a shrug, that dopey smile still on his face.
"Did you...?" Sam squints at Castiel and tilts his head questioningly.
"I raised you from hell, that's correct."
Which earns Castiel his next hug within three days, and his vessel is so small that it vanishes completely in Sam's arms.
After Sam lets go, Dean's and Cas' eyes meet, and for a moment, they just stare at each other. Dean in disbelief mixed with joy, Castiel amused in a told-you-I-could-do-this way, almost smug. And this time, when Dean says "Thanks," it's not bitter and partly ironic. It's warm and genuine and with a wide, happy grin towards Cas.
In return, Dean gets one of those rare, equally genuine smiles of Cas, and feels a tingle deep in the pit of his stomach, something that he hasn't felt for a long, long time. It doesn't help that the pair of lips that Cas now wears are full and still so enticing.
God help him, but he's attracted to Cas. Like... woah.
"What are you gonna do now, Cas?" Dean asks, mainly to break the tension between them. And, also, to wipe that shit-eating grin from Sam's face, who watches them with a look on his face like he's in on some secret that Dean and Cas don't know.
"Return to heaven."
"Will we see you again down here?" Sam quickly adds.
"I will always come when you call," Castiel confirms. "Don't hesitate to do so."
And with that, the angel flies off.
Sam, yet again, has that wide grin on his face. "Okay, honestly? How long have you been tapping that, Dean?"
"I didn't- Dude, that's Cas," Dean answers, flabbergasted.
"Yeah, and he's- she's friggin' hot. Since when do you not-"
Dean interrupts him quickly. "I'm sorry, I was busy mourning my brother's death and apart from the fact that I barely spent ten minutes with our new angel, I wasn't particularly interested in hitting on girls in general," he elaborates.
Sam tips his head. "Sorry, man. I didn't mean it like that."
"I know," Dean sighs. "So, what now? You hungry?"
"Starving, actually."
Author's note:
So. I couldn't get this off my mind, I have to get it out of my system. Girl!Cas and Dean, completely oblivious to the fact that he's smitten with Cas no matter if he's in a male or female vessel. Sorry for that bit of angst at the beginning; that was only for the sake of the plot. The rest of this, I promise, will be mostly fluffy and hot. You read correctly: there's porn coming up (both het and slash). And if anyone is willing to beta this for me, just leave me a message. Also, let me know what you think! Feedback is very much appreciated.