Dean's first memory was from the night before his fourth birthday.
Excited, he still didn't want to go to bed. He was only convinced to do so when he was promised an awesome birthday breakfast and an amazing day if he went to sleep. Mary and John tucked him into his bed and gave him a goodnight kiss. And, as she always did, his mom, pregnant with little Sammy, leaned down and whispered for him, "angels are watching over you".
Dean had been so happy at that same moment, his family gathered around him, birthday wishes and a few months away from having a little brother that his smile hurt. As he drifted into a deep sleep, he believed his mother's words; angels could only be real when happiness such as this existed.Don't let this ever get away.
He was never one much for praying; only did it when his mother sat next to him on his bed, and prayed out loud as Dean closed his eyes. And maybe it was real, maybe it wasn't, but if his mother had faith, then so would he.
When she passed away, Dean's life grew darker. He found it hard to believe in anything; who would take such an incredible and sweet, leaving a broken little family? His brother Sam was still too young to understand, barely a year old, and his father went down in grief. Dean felt lonely.
"I asked you to protect my family!" Dean cried one night. It was true; every time he had closed his eyes in prayer next to his mother, all he asked was for the same thing, over and over again. "You were supposed to protect them and you took her away!"
He wanted to believe his mother was somewhere better, and that those same angels were watching over her.
It was a nice thought. But he was not a believer.
As time passed by and hope died, he left those childish thoughts alone. There was nothing watching over them. Since the death of their mother, John had drowned in grief and alcohol; the Winchesters had moved to the other side of the country, for the man couldn't stand staying in that house. Dean had long since given up on himself, the only light in his life being his little brother.
However, despite himself, that childish thought came back from time to time. Whenever he helped Sammy to bed, a twisting feeling set in his chest as he helped the boy in his pajamas and read books together. The kid loved them, and yet he always fell asleep before he could finish the story. In the end, when that feeling turned unbearable, he would always say the same; "angels are watching over you, Sammy". He may not have been a believer himself, not anymore, but at least his brother could live with hope like Dean once did.
It was unfair that he had to go through the same grief; it was unfair that growing up, Sam had already gotten used to the fact that he didn't have a mom. Someone had to take care of him. So that childish want, that hope, that wish for someone to be watching over their family came back, even if just for a moment. Their mother believed angels were their guardians, and sometimes Dean wished that was true.
And if they weren't, then Dean would become a guardian angel himself; if no one was watching over them, even if he prayed, even if he screamed into the night for them to take care of them, as he had once done, then he would become a protector himself to guard over him. It was all just hope, and late night wishes. Growing up, they went away, his hope settling into the reality he was thrown in.
Still, one day, it all became too real, too soon, in an impossible way that Dean started going crazy over.
It was a summer night, and Dean, a nineteen-year-old, was at a party. Sam and his dad were at home. He deserved a break sometimes; a break from being the responsible one in that house. And so, despite the guilt of leaving his baby brother alone with their father, he went out. If just for one night.
It had all been good and fun until the party host called his name and handed him the house phone. Dean didn't lose a second after the news and went rushing into the night –he hadn't taken his car since he was certain to drink that evening- and back to their house.
A fire; it was already being put out, but it had been pretty huge. When he arrived, he saw police cars, firetrucks, and an ambulance. He asked everyone what had happened; luckily, no one was hurt. Walked around until he stumbled upon his father, pacing in front of the ambulance.
"Where is Sam?" was the first thing he asked.
"In there," he pointed towards the ambulance. "He is still out of it, but fine according to the paramedics."
"What happened?" Dean's eyes were hard on his father.
"I left the stove on," John seemed ashamed. Good. He should be. "I was- I didn't-I'm sorry.I tried to get Sam, but I couldn't. The fire took the staircase. Someone broke into the house and saved Sammy."
"What?"
His father pointed at the police car, and Dean turned around with a confused frown.
A young man, only a few years older than Dean, was being interrogated by the cops; his hair was dark and ruffled, and he seemed intact despite the fact that he had just gotten in and out of a house engulfed in flames.
"Hey!" Dean called out, approaching the scene. The young man turned around, staring at him curiously. "Hey, I'm Dean."
The man's blue stare took all of Dean's attention in a second. Dean felt as if his stare pinned him to the floor, deep blue eyes gazing at him with unwavering intensity. Suddenly shy, Dean swallowed.
"Hello, Dean," the man said, taking the teenager out of his trance. His voice was deep, gravelly, hypnotizing, even. Dean stumbled with his words, surprising himself; he never did that.
"I, um, wanted to thank you. For saving my brother. That was really- really brave. You didn't have to."
"It's not a problem," was the answer, accompanied with a smile. "Is he okay now?"
It was warm and soft, something Dean had not seen coming judging by the stiff way the man held himself. He seemed odd. In a good kind of way, Dean decided.
"Yeah, he is recovering, but will be fine," Dean said, distractedly. "And, uh, what's your name?"
The blue-eyed man cocked his head, slightly confused as if he couldn't understand why Dean would ask such a question. Then, he shifted, hesitant, seeming unsure for some reason.
"Castiel," he finally said, despite his obvious discomfort.
"Okay, Cas. Is Cas okay?" The nickname had rolled off his tongue so easily that it only felt right. Still, he asked. It was a habit most people deemed annoying, but something Dean couldn't quite help. Castiel nodded sharply. "Thanks, again."
Castiel stared at Dean for a second, a slight tilt of his head in sign of acknowledgment.
Suddenly, Castiel turned around and started walking the other way.
"Excuse me, I have to go," he said over his shoulder quickly.
"Wa- hey!" Dean followed, trotting behind him. He didn't know what had gotten over him, but he felt the need to keep talking to the man. "Cas. Wait a second."
He grabbed Castiel by the shoulder and made him turn around. With surprise, he realized he had way too many questions. Dean's stare was firm but curious.
"What were you doing around here, anyway? You are not from around this neighborhood; I never saw you or heard of you. And it's pretty late to be strolling around town."
Castiel seemed really uncomfortable all of a sudden; it was obvious he didn't want to answer the question. Which made it all even stranger than it already was. How had this man managed to get inside the house and get out of it without a scratch? Why did he get in in the first place?
Cas' eyes were moving quickly, staring anywhere except Dean, as if making sure no one could see or hear them, or maybe just to avoid his gaze. In the end, he looked upwards, into the starry night sky.
"You asked for protection," Castiel said slowly as if he was testing the ground he was getting himself into, tasting the words in his mouth and trying to choose the right ones, evaluating Dean's reaction to something that sounded so innocent all the same.
Those words made Dean unable to move, maybe even more than the guy's stare, and it took the teenager a while to process it. For anyone, maybe those words wouldn't have meant a thing, just a poetic line to add mystery to the situation. But not for Dean. He knew all too well those words.
When he finally moved, Castiel was already turning around the corner and disappearing into the night.
"Wait! What do you mean?!" Dean exclaimed, trying to follow.
However, when he reached that same corner, he was only met with a deserted street and a gush of wind. Castiel was nowhere to be seen.
Sam woke up the next day in a hospital bed, feeling all kinds of dizzy. His eyes wandered down, seeing an IV in his arm. Defeated, he decided against stretching, ignoring the ache of his body created both by the pain and kind of the uncomfortable bed.
He looked up, gazing around the room and the first thing he saw was Dean pacing nervously. He chuckled, catching his brother's attention.
"You'll make a hole in the floor."
Dean looked up, but didn't say anything; instead, he just approached the bed, slowly, and smacked Sam in the back of the head.
"Were you worried?" Sam grinned.
"No, I wasn't," Dean rolled his eyes with a snort. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I just slept for like a thousand years. Must be the meds," Sam laughed. "When will they discharge me?"
"They said you seemed to be fine but they want to have an eye on you for a while. A couple of hours?"
"Great," Sam smiled.
Then, silence fell over the room, and Dean remained quiet.
Sam shivered. Probably A few flashbacks from the night before had come back to him. By the look on his face, that had clearly been an unpleasant experience. Dean snorted slightly. Dean's gaze drifted back to nowhere, the reminiscence from the previous night flooding his mind.
"Who took me out?" Sam turned to face Dean. The oldest Winchester, however, was pensively staring to a wall. His little brother stared at him intently, as if trying to see something beyond the façade. "Areyouokay?"
He shook his head slightly. "Yeah, I'm okay. Why do you ask?"
"You seem a little… out of it. What happened yesterday?"
"Nothing. I said I'm-" Dean fell silent when Sam glared at him. The kid had an incredible glare face, one which he had improved over the years- the patented bitch-face. Even as a little boy he had already mastered it, and now he was a teenager, that face did wonders.
Dean sighed, accommodating himself on the border of the bed, and told him about Castiel. He never did that, talking much to Sam, even if the kid asked him all the time. But this time it was different.
He told him about how Castiel had saved him without getting a scratch, and then Dean found him talking to the police. About his strange aura, holding himself in an unusual way and acting mysterious yet warm.
After telling him about the final words that had Dean frozen and pinned to the floor, Sam remained silent, thinking with a slight frown on his face. It was familiar, the same pensive way Dean had been only ten minutes before.
"We could find him," Sam said, in the end. He hesitated. "But we'll have to go to some lengths."
Dean didn't even question the "we"; he wasn't fond of the idea of Sam going with him, hunting this guy down to ask him questions after he had been in a house fire, but knowing his little brother, it wasn't an option. If Sam was already thinking in the plural, then it would remain like that until he accomplished the task he had set for himself.
"How? I've been trying to think about something all night and I came up with nothing. And I need answers, man."
"I know. What he said was weird. I would want answers too. What do you think he was, again?"
The small smile on Sam's lips made Dean sigh heavily.
"An angel," Dean repeated reluctantly. He had explained to Sam his theory; the man had to have been on the other side of his prayers to know what Dean had asked for. And there was only one way for that to happen.
He knew he sounded crazy; he had never believed in supernatural stuff. And even though he had once wished for the winged soldiers to exist, to protect his family, it was still a far step from Dean actually believing it.
And yet, when he said it, the word rolling off his tongue, it only felt right, as if it could be the only answer to the words Castiel had uttered the night before. It could have been a coincidence, maybe a long shot, but deep down in his gut, Dean knew it was way beyond.
He was glad Sam didn't laugh at him, as he knew another person would have done the second he said that word.
"Okay," Sam nodded slowly, a small smile, but not mocking. "Just checking. So, here's what we are gonna do."
After Sam told him a half-elaborated but incredibly bound to work plan, Dean smirked down to his little brother and ruffled his shaggy hair.
"I can't believe little Sammy would ever tell me to do something, as you'd say, 'illicit'."
"I'm the one doing it. And it's not how I say it, it's how it's called," Sam huffed.
It was fairly simple, and still quite wrong. But it was nothing Dean Winchester couldn't or wouldn't do. Throughout his life, he had done his fair share of vandalism, as well as many, many other things labeled the same. A little flirting here and stealing some files there was nothing Dean was above of.
The thing was, if Cas had given his statement to the police, he had to give his full name and address, in case he was needed. And there were two options; either he would give fake information, and would risk himself to get caught, or he would have given every little single record Dean needed.
And, to be honest, the guy didn't seem the kind that would lie to the police. Not only had he just saved a boy he didn't even know; there was also something about him that screamed friendly-neighbor-and-good-citizen to everyone who laid eyes on him for barely five seconds. Or at least, that's what Dean thought.
So, after sneaking in the police office and flirting with the receptionist, taking a peek at the police report and writing down the information, Dean could only believe the name James Novak from Pontiac, Illinois, had a good reason to be written there instead of Castiel's name. Dean checked a few times, scanning throughout the papers, but there was no doubt about it; that was the information Cas had given to the police.
A few weeks after the incident he found himself sitting in the Impala -his father's car, but Dean had promised to take care of Baby and bring it back by the next day-, rethinking his whole plan as he stared at the church he had parked in front of.
"You sure about this?" Sam asked, sitting in the passengers' seat. The guy had insisted on Dean to take him, and once Sam settled his mind onto something, there was no way anyone would change it. So Dean had had to bring his little brother, whether he liked it or not.
"I don't know. But I have to ask him, you know?"
"I know that. I asked if you were sure this is where you'll find him," Sam half smiled.
"That's what his family said," Dean shrugged.
He had stopped by the Novak's home half an hour before, and James -Jimmy, Cas, whoever at this point- wasn't home. His family had told him he would find him at St. Mary's Catholic Church, and Dean didn't even question it for a second. It felt kind of right. And ironic, if his weird conclusion was somewhat true.
"Okay. Then what are you waiting for?" Sam smiled. "Get out of here. I'll wait."
Dean glanced at Sam before stepping out of the car.
"Good luck!"
He wasn't one for churches; ever since his mother's death, Dean Winchester hadn't stepped inside a church. Their father had given up hope, and Dean had lost his faith; Sam grew up believing, surrounded by hopeless people. So it wasn't strange how out of place he felt when he walked through the church's big entrance.
He was encountered with a lot of seats, golden and marble details, and an altar at the end of the aisle. There were people arranging things here and there, probably for the mass that would be taking place that night and the next day. They turned their heads slightly, noticing Dean standing in front of the entrance, but soon enough they all went back to their task, ignoring the slightly lost teenager.
Someone touched his shoulder, and Dean almost jumped out of his skin as a soft voice asked, "do you need something?"
It was oddly familiar, even if completely different to what he had ever heard, and when Dean turned around he was met with deep, blue eyes. "Cas?" he muttered, surprise written all over his face.
Something in the man's features changed, and maybe it was the light, but Dean would have sworn he went pale. His eyes were wide with recognition, and he took a step back, straightening. The man coughed, bewildered. "Excuse me. I have to…"
He turned around and left with a quick pace that soon turned into something suspiciously similar to running.
Dean was not going to go through this again, so he quickly followed, calling him, and telling him to stop. Cas, however, ignored him and ran through a small door at the left side of the hall. Dean went after him, stepping inside a hallway, where people came and went with stuff for preparations, and many doors led to other rooms.
He finally caught him in the middle of the hallway, clutching his shirt and pulling him inside a kind of closet. The man raised his hands, closing his eyes, and said hurriedly, "I'm sorry!"
"What are you sorry for?" Dean asked, confused. The man sounded strange, and Dean took a step back, taking in the sight of him. "Why did you run away?"
"I thought you were mad, but it seems you're not," the man shrugged, slightly nervous. "What do you want?" he visually relaxed when Dean had let him go.
He was different. His body was way more relaxed than the other night's stiff posture, even when he was afraid. His gaze was different as well- still the same strangely deep blue eyes, except they were not as piercing, not as searching. And his voice was not as gravelly, deep like the other day. This time, it was lighter, like a soft breeze instead of thunder.
"You are not Cas," Dean said. He had seen the guy for like five minutes, but still, he was certainthiswas not the same guy as the other night.
"Wh-Cas? No, no. I'm Jimmy. My name is Jimmy Novak," the man stuck his hand out to introduce himself. He didn't seem as afraid as before. Didn't mean he felt less weary to put Dean off. Which was the case, if his calming stance was anything to go by.
"Yeah, I can see that," Dean ignored Jimmy's hand. "But how- I mean, it was you I met the other night, but it wasn't…"
"Me, per se. I know. Strange, right? But you are fine. I… I shouldn't, okay? But I can tell you what you want to know." Jimmy said, maybe reassuring himself it was right to tell Dean the truth. What truth, Dean had no idea. "You are looking forCastiel, Dean, not me," Jimmy explained as if that wasn't one of the strangest things Dean had heard in his entire life.
"O-okay. I'm not sure I'm following. What do you mean, like a different person?" Dean asked. Then backtracked. "And how do you know my name, then?"
Dean's eyes widened slightly and talked before Jimmy could say anything.
"Ah, I understand now. Is it, like, you know… a character you do?" he was rambling by now. "Gotta say, you have some pretty sweet acting skills there-"
"What? No!" Jimmy shook his head. "How did you even come up with that? Castiel is anangel, Dean. I'm his vessel. That's how I remember your name; I was there, but not quite. I thought you knew that?"
"That's impossible," Dean snorted, not quite believing what he was hearing. "Angels don't exist." Yeah, he had said it himself. But there was no way someone else had actually confirmed his delirious thoughts.
"Then why are you here? If there wasn't something strange, why would you come here?" Jimmy asked, casting Dean a knowing look.
Dean remained silent. It was crazy, it was impossible, but something was off about all this and he couldn't deny it. So after a few quiet seconds, he stared back at Jimmy, and asked beneath a whisper, "how can I know it's not a lie?"
"Follow me," Jimmy said without question and a tiny smile.
He walked out of the small room, reentering the hallway. Jimmy's pace was quick, and he dismissed with a smile whoever tried to catch his attention, saying he was busy. The people they came across stared at Dean with confused expressions but said nothing as both men turned on a corner and entered another room.
Except this one was supposed to be some sort of library. It wasn't big -though not as small as the other closet-, yet it had a lot of shelves with countless books and papers scattered around. It was a mess, full of probably religious information, and Dean had not been expecting to be carried here.
Jimmy fumbled around, ignoring the shelves as he scanned the floor and came across a small shattered box. With a hum, he leaned down and retrieved a quite old book. The leather was covered with dust and the pages were worn out. However, even if it appeared that it would crumble any second, it was still in one piece and that was all that mattered.
"Castiel disappeared that same night. Another angel appeared, they fought, and then he was just… gone. So I checked out this book; he told me it had real information, once. Here."
He had opened the book and Dean didn't utter a single word as Jimmy handed it to him, a specific line marked by the tip of his index.
Angels can only be forced out of their vessels to confront divine judgment.
"What does that mean?"
"It means that if I'm not the one rejecting him, and he's not the one leaving, -and trust me, he wasn't-, then he was pulled out. And if he was pulled out, he is in trouble. That's why I'm telling you this. I need your help to find Castiel." Jimmy's eyes were almost pleading.
"Why do you need my help? I don't know the first thing about angels. Hell, I don't even know if I believe any of this."
"I need your help because I've tried everything," Jimmy's head fell, ashamed. "Usually, a vessel and their angel have a connection. Like a direct line. But no matter what I do, I come out with nothing. Believe whatever you want. But if I couldn't get him, then maybe you can." Jimmy seemed defeated.
"You really think that? I barely even met him." Dean began turning the pages.
"You still haven't figured it out, have you?" Jimmy said, eyeing him curiously. "Why do you think he was there that night?"
Dean paused, thinking about it for a moment. It hadn't occurred to him. It had just seemed strange. Like an incredible coincidence that should not have happened if it wasn't meant to be.
"Bad luck?"
"He is your guardian, Dean. And you have as many chances as I do to reach him. I tried my share, and I'll keep on with that. But you have to try your part too. Castiel is in trouble." Jimmy smiled weakly. It was fake, of course, and his eyes squinted with worry.
"Well, that seems to be working just fine," Dean muttered. "Okay, I'll see what I can do."
After that, he returned to the car, Jimmy waving goodbye at the steps of the church. Dean was holding the old book as he climbed up on the driver's seat, startling Sam who had been doing some homework in the meantime. The young Winchester regarded his older brother curiously.
"What's that?"
Dean didn't answer him right away, going through all this new information over and over again. It was only in the middle of their way back home when he explained to Sam what Jimmy had told him. In the end, Sam was smiling.
"I'll help you," he said.
At night, after arriving at their home, Sam sat near Dean and they began analyzing the book for anything that could help them. A clue, a passage, maybe even a spell -at this rate, that was probably possible as well. A few hours later, and coming up with nothing, Sam went to bed, yet Dean stayed up all night reading.
That's how it began.