Iron and BloodI highly suggest listening to Woodkid's "Iron" while reading this, I wrote this while listening to it. That song is just…art. And this fic doesn't really have a direction…hopefully I can think of some story to go with it…it'll be canon up to a certain point then I'll deviate majorly from the original plot. So yeah, major AU warning here. Some scenes might be similar to those in the show, but I'm not going to use the exact same dialogue, though some lines will remain the same.
This is pretty much ignoring season 6 as well, imo if they ended the series there it wouldn't have been that bad. You have to admit, that would have been a great ending to it all. Bittersweet, but still amazing.
Plus this just gives me an awesome excuse to write a delightfully evil Cas…as I've come to enjoy doing. So this is basically me fulfilling some sick fantasy of mine, and as much as I appreciate critique, I'd much rather any plot holes or glaring errors to be left alone please.
Un-beta'ed, so any mistakes you see are solely mine.
Warnings: eventual man-lovings, obsessive/evil!cas, wing!kink, and other things. Beware!
Eleh ha-devarim.
These are the words. Words that begin movement, words that begin love, loss, the end of days, the end of everything.
These are the words that will tell the tale when the tale is over.
Castiel pulled with all of his might, and his might was great. He was the pinnacle, a vision of heavenly perfection. The perfect soldier, the perfect angel, it was he alone who pulled Dean Winchester from perdition. He alone who was commanded by his Father to watch over the man, to keep him on the arrow straight path to righteousness. The heavenly host may have laid siege to the depths of hell, to Lucifer himself, but Castiel knew, knew the only thing that mattered in that moment was to steal the man away. Nothing was more important in that moment.
This battered, broken soul in his ethereal arms, Dean Winchester, covered in the blood and sin of countless others he slew on the rack, couldn't have looked more beautiful. For his soul was bright, pure, though many thought it stained and broken beyond repair. Castiel almost wept that no other would see it in its purity as he did then.
Castiel rushed upwards, rising above his brothers and sisters as they held off the hordes of the pit. His wings were singed, battered, he felt the man in his arms gain incredible weight, and thousands upon thousands of hands grabbed at his burning metallic feathers that were steadily falling away. The millions of souls trapped forever in hell, condemned by their very deeds, yet they still pleaded for salvation, clutched the grace drenched thing attempting to break through the final layer of hell. They held the feathers close to their flayed flesh, though they burned and sliced at their souls like a million knives. They howled in anguish and relief equally, and Castiel's heart fell, he knew he would never be the same after this flight.
He looked above, seeing superficial light that marked the border of the land of the living and the land of the damned, and with one final pull, one final burst of grace, Castiel broke through with the Winchester's soul intact.
He was hesitant to place it back in its rightful vessel. Its brightness would be dulled behind the flesh of a man, and yet Castiel had a small hope that it wouldn't happen like that, hoped that somehow that brilliant soul would transcend its fleshy prison and shine bright for only him to see.
So when Castiel healed the battered body encased in a simple coffin in the middle of a forest, he left with no small amount of hope and pride for the man he had saved.
He, as well as God, had high hopes for the righteous man.
Whenever Castiel attempted to speak with Dean within the next few hours of his awakening, he was upset to learn that Dean was not one that could comprehend his true voice. He almost felt like he had failed Dean somehow, though the man would later deny that claim. Still, Castiel couldn't help but feel inadequate.
He would have to take a vessel.
Jimmy Novak was unusually pleasant about the whole ordeal up to the point of his wife's denial. Who was she to deny the existence of a messenger of God? He was grateful though, her rejection was the final straw that allowed him possession of Jimmy's body.
He was sure to punish the woman before he left the darkened house for good, secondary vessel left screaming on the porch steps.
He sought Dean Winchester the very next day. He couldn't take the time to stand idly by and wait for the man to summon him, he possibly had no idea who or what he was. Which was something Castiel would come to appreciate.
During the time he took to locate Dean, a woman, a psychic, attempted to look at his true face.
That had been a mistake.
He burned the woman's eyes out, but what did she expect? He at least attempted to warn her, to stop her, but as usual with modern American women, she did not listen. She might have been educated about the occult and the other side, but as with most humans involved in the hunting business, was ignorant to the Divine.
She also slightly lusted after Dean, his Dean. He couldn't have that. He needed Dean free from distractions.
He saw after the ordeal that Dean was now upset and angry over what he had done, and privately frightened. Castiel didn't know what to think about that. But he digressed, he would explain everything to Dean when the time came, and he would understand.
He came the next night, giving sufficient time for Dean and his brother to leave that psychic woman's town. He took a moment to pat himself down to remove the deepest wrinkles in his clothing, unconsciously smoothing out his feathers as well, though the brothers were incapable of seeing them. He supposed it had become habit since his return from the pit. He had discovered that first impressions meant everything to humans, and he wanted to look at least slightly respectable.
He knocked a few times, timidly at first as he was unused to the courtesy, and was greeted with the younger brother, Sam.
"Can I help you?" he asked politely enough, but didn't open the door any further.
"Yes, Sam. I need to speak with your brother, privately."
Castiel didn't know what he had originally expected, but it most definitely was not the business end of a shotgun pointed between his eyes. He sighed, and snapped, sending the weapon back against the wall, along with its wielder. Sam sailed backward with a surprised grunt, and Castiel stepped into the small motel room, unfazed when a knife buried itself directly over his heart. He removed it just as calmly, grabbing the hand of Dean himself, and Castiel was almost overcome with awe over the man.
He stood before him, a man, as one would stand before a storm. He had no way to contain it, no way to hide from it or stop it, and yet there he stood. Proud and strong.
"Who are you?" he growled, and Castiel could not suppress the shudder that ran through his wings, they echoed at the presence of the spirit before him. And Castiel couldn't help but mirror their expectant vibrations.
"I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."
As Castiel spoke the words he walked forward, shutting the door behind him. He noticed how Dean unconsciously glanced at his shoulder, the shoulder that Castiel had grasped upon first locating him in the pit. The mark had been an unexpected reaction to his grace, but a welcome one. It marked Dean as his.
"No shit. You some kind of demon?"
Castiel again couldn't help the look of confusion that ran unbidden across his face.
"I am an angel of the Lord."
Dean just stood and glared at him for a few minutes, and his expression was almost exasperated.
"C'mon buddy, who put you up to this? I'll give you a chance, you can take off now while you still can, leave the poor bastard you're possessing here, 'fore I get a hold of something that'll really hurt you."
Castiel just could not get used to Dean's gravelly voice, it demanded attention, and Castiel adored every syllable uttered from those lips.
"I cannot lie to you, Dean. I would never do such a thing."
Something in the man's expression changed, faltered. Castiel likened the effect to webbed cracks appearing in deep sheets of ice.
"I…am an angel of the Lord," he repeated, unfurling his wings, "and this is your problem, Dean. You have no faith."
A "fateful" strike of lightening took the motel's power for an instant, illuminating his wings against the far wall. Dean would later say the image had been burned into his brain.
The lights flickered back on a moment later. Dean snorted something before turning around, and Castiel could sense his believability was no longer in jeopardy, if Dean's relaxed shoulders had anything to do with it.
"So you're a fluttery little cherub, I get it, that actually explains a lot that's been goin' on around here."
Castiel opened his mouth to correct him. He was not a cherub, but in fact a throne, but Dean continued to speak.
"-and all that shattering glass and shit, and that white noise and ringing at that gas station, your handiwork?"
Castiel merely nodded, not seeing any reason to deny it. Dean ran a hand over his face, a universally human sign of weariness.
"And Pam? Was that you who burned the poor woman's eyes out?"
"She will fare no differently without them. A psychic's inner eye is more than sufficient for daily life-"
Dean swore, pacing back and forth in the small space, taking a conspicuous glance at Castiel. He felt his heart clench, he couldn't have the man he risked his grace to save come to dislike him.
"I attempted to warn her, that gazing on my true form would result in…that…" Castiel placated, hoping he didn't sound too pathetic. He was, after all, an angel. He didn't want to seem too normal, too weak to this man. Weakness was not an option.
"Wasn't there some way to stop that from happening? You know, look like you do now?" Dean asked, and he seemed genuinely curious, to which Castiel was grateful.
"Oh this," Castiel looked down and picked at his beige trench coat as if noticing it for the first time, "this is a just a vessel. It is true, if you looked at my true form you would not survive, Pamela was lucky."
"And that ringing at the station, let me guess, your true voice?"
"Yes, and I must confess that I was saddened to see that you are not one that can hear my true voice. Though now I am slightly grateful, otherwise we would not have met in such a curious fashion."
"So let me get this straight, you're possessing someone right now? You're no better than a demon!"
Castiel didn't hide his flinch in time, but in the context of the conversation he knew Dean had not meant it personally. That fact did not make it hurt less.
"This was an extremely devout man, he actually prayed for this."
"Uh-huh…and what was his name?"
Castiel was once again confused before answering, "James Novak?"
Dean faltered, apparently he hadn't been expecting an answer.
"I am not like a demon, Dean. I take the time to get to know my vessel personally, I know what he wishes, and I gave him a choice in the end. Besides," Castiel motioned to the bloodless stab wound in his chest, "I heal quite well. James will not be harmed while I am in possession of his body."
"Does he have a family?"
Castiel sensed that this was an important question to Dean, a deal breaker.
"No," he lied smoothly. It was only a small lie, one that he felt didn't need forgiveness from his Father. He would understand when all was done.
Dean relaxed completely, either satisfied with Castiel's answers, or had finally realized that he had no way to fight the being before him.
Castiel walked over and returned Sam to consciousness, confident that Dean would explain the situation to him. And he did, though in far fewer words.
"He's a fuckin' angel."
Sam's forehead creased in confusion.
"An angel? What's his name?"
"Uh…" Dean ran a hand through his hair, apparently sheepish that he had not even asked for the angel's name.
"Castiel." He supplied. Sam's face lit up.
"It's an honor to meet you, Castiel. And you're the one that saved Dean?"
Castiel allowed himself a small smile, "Yes, Sam. That in fact was me."
Sam shook his hand firmly, trying and failing not to let a few tears slip down his face.
"Thank you, just…thank you…"
Castiel nodded, releasing his hand and stood there.
"It is not of import."
The angel, Castiel he said his name was, was very awkward to be around. He didn't like Sam, it seemed. But who would, considering the amount of demon blood the kid had chugged in the past. He assumed Castiel knew about that. He was an angel, after all.
He didn't mind Dean at all. It was almost creepy how close he got to the older Winchester at times, as if being in his very presence was soothing.
And sometimes Dean imagined things, like rustling of creaky wings whenever Castiel appeared next to him, like the things were vibrating or something. He imagined looks he received from the angel, well, hoped he imagined. They were not looks an angel should be sending a human man, a man in general. But Dean doubted the angel knew what he was doing. He was proving to be a social dunce, and had cost them several investigations, and had almost blown their cover on many occasions.
When dealing with Dean he was natural, if not a little jumpy. But around other humans he was just plain awkward. Did Dean find it strange, yes, but nothing too alarming to pursue.
But of course, Sammy with his little genius brain wouldn't let it keep on.
"You know what this is right?" Sam started late one night months after Castiel joined their little hodge-podge group. Dean sighed deeply, wearily. He was seriously getting sick of Sam's nagging.
"And what is it, Sam? Tell me, 'cause I obviously do not know."
"He's obsessed with you!" Sam hissed, like he was afraid the angel was listening, and if Dean knew him well enough by then, that had been a safe enough conclusion.
"Please. Obsessed is a bit harsh, don't you think? I'd like to think he's…involved."
"Uh-huh. Tell me this, why is it that you seem to be the only human he can tolerate?"
"Tolerate?"
"You should see him when you're not around, rare as that is. He's totally different. He's a freaking dick."
"I think you're just jealous I have a cute little angel perched on my shoulder and all you had was an ugly ass demon-bitch." Dean snickered, rolling over.
Sam sighed, doing the same, but a few minutes later spoke one last time that night.
"Just put an end to it, before things get out of hand."
Things most certainly did get out of hand.
The first time they got physical was the day they sent Lucifer back to the pit. The day Dean thought he lost his brother for good.
Dean was distraught over the loss of his brother and had drunk too much. Bobby had vacated the room, leaving one very drunk man and an extremely possessive yet pliant angel behind.
Dean met little resistance when he finally crushed the smaller man's lips under his, didn't feel him so much as struggle when he pushed him down into the timeworn couch.
"You want this?" he growled, pleased at the furious blush he elicited on the angel's face. "Huh? I know you do, I've seen you…the way you look at me…" he ground his hips down against the angel's, feeling an equally hard length meet his own. "The way you look at those whores who throw themselves all over me." Castiel's eyes darkened in lust and equal parts wrath, "how you look like you want to tear them apart." Dean grinned at Castiel's answering groan. "You kinky bastard. You getting turned on over killing a couple of bitches?"
Castiel could only pant in response as Dean kept up his brutal pace. Jimmy was screaming inside his head, but Castiel had learned to ignore him long ago. He wanted this, badly. Why was it so wrong to…partake?
Dean leaned over and stole his lips once more, and the angel fought for domination for fleeting seconds, groaning around the powerful muscle plundering his mouth. Dean thrust his tongue in and out in a lewd parody of what he really wanted, grinning a wicked smile that was all teeth. Castiel glimpsed a side of Dean he had not seen since watching him down in the pit, torturing those souls, and it sent a thrill through him that he almost thought impossible to feel before.
Dean noticed his shudder and he pulled back.
"You always do that. You roll your shoulders when you think I'm not looking. I can hear them, you know. Every time you appear next to me I just want to reach out and see if I can touch them…"
Castiel didn't even have to ask what it was that Dean wanted.
He manifested an approximation of what his wings would look like to a human, and by Dean's expression as they constructed themselves into reality, they were a sight to behold.
Dean didn't even hesitate before he plunged his hands deep into the darkened plumage, and Castiel groaned out loud, a deeply ecstatic sound. His wings rushed upwards, dragging Dean's hands further in. The man chuckled.
"I thought angel wings were supposed to be white," he murmured, burying his face in the soft downy feathers layering the inner side of the right wing, licking at the thick chords of muscle they masked.
"Th-they were…" Castiel gasped, fighting for air through the unfathomable pleasure he was feeling. He had no idea physical stimuli to his wings would feel so deliciously explosive. It was hardly comparable to the pleasure he felt below as Dean continued to grind his leaking erection into the smooth indent of his hip. The pleasure in his groin paled in comparison to what Dean was doing with his hands.
His breathing quickened when Dean massaged the opposite wing in time with his frantic thrusting, and this time Castiel could not hold back the sounds he was afraid to make the first time. Chaotic noises, archaic noises, noises he had no name for. He was in ecstasy.
"They smell like sulfur, like fucking fire, ungh…God…Cas-"
He leaned his head back, moaning and screaming Dean's name when the man fisted delicate feathers in his fist and pulled. He was sure at some point he had lapsed into Enochian, and he vaguely registered Dean muttering something along the lines of that being "hot."
"How did…how did they…?" Dean groaned, licking his way down Castiel's exposed throat, thrusts coming faster and more erratic.
Castiel struggled to form a cognitive thought in English before answering.
"From the pit, they were…they were singed, burned…" he groaned deep in his throat when Dean's grip tightened.
"I did this to you," he growled possessively around his angel's neck, taking another cruel tug at the feathers in his hand, simultaneously biting down on the smooth expanse of creamy skin offered to him.
"Ahhh, yes…you did, you did…Dean…" Castiel repeated Dean's name through a desperate whine like some twisted litany, his voice rising higher and higher. And with one final harsh tug from Dean, as he felt several of his feathers tear from his delicate flesh, he screamed and sobbed as he came.
Dean ground down a few more times before following Castiel into bliss. He smothered his angel in kisses, licking his face free of tears more than his lips, still thrusting lazily against the smaller man's hip. Castiel moaned softly when Dean released his vice like grip on his wings, and they both chuckled a little when the feathers Dean pulled out stuck slightly to his sweaty palms before falling soundlessly to the floor.
"Do you think you could keep them like this?" Dean whispered, stroking the darker, sharper plumage at the edge of one of the wings.
"To be honest, it takes less of my grace to keep them like this then it does to hide them."
"So is that a yes?"
Castiel smiled, softly stroking Dean's hair, "yes."
The next day, Castiel almost gave Bobby a heart attack when the man entered the cozy living room to find a "giant bird" perched on his couch. Which is how he described the way Castiel had looked at the time. Dean emerged from the bathroom in time to stop the man from retrieving his trusty shotgun by the front door.
Dean only had to do a minimal amount of explaining, thankful Bobby had spent the night out in the garage tinkering with irreparable engines to get his mind off things. Dean couldn't even imagine how he would've explained the noises they had made last night. Not that Bobby couldn't have put two and two together. They weren't exactly being discreet.
Bobby simply huffed, glaring at Castiel and ordered that he "mind himself" and to "not knock anything over."
The rest of the day they had to be careful. Dean couldn't resist stroking those gorgeous wings every time he passed by, and Castiel couldn't help the weakness in his knees and the deep groan it elicited.
Dean could fully appreciate their beauty now that they were in the light. Castiel wasn't exaggerating when he said they were "burned." The soft insides of the wings were saved from the worst of it, still maintaining the soft white and downy texture, but the further out the darker they got, till the very back and the longest feathers were a charred black. They were sharp and metallic to the touch, and Castiel said that was yet again another side effect, though his voice sounded troubled.
They still held the fiery scent of hell, a scent Dean found all too familiar, but in this case couldn't be bothered by. He actually found it arousing, and couldn't help himself every time his angel walked by.
Yes, his angel.
Sam was right when he said Castiel was obsessed with him, but who's to say Dean wasn't as well? He was a freaking angel, an angel that risked everything to save him from hell and countless demons on the way. Couldn't Dean be a little grateful, in his own way? He didn't know if the thrall he felt towards the smaller man had anything to do with his grace, but he didn't mind. Dean was definitely attracted to the man, with or without any special angel mojo.
So, naturally, Dean couldn't help but continue what they had started the past night.
"Dean," Castiel groaned, burying his head in the man's chest, wondering if he would ever get tired of the man pulling on his feathers. Probably not.
Dean had, at some point between cornering him in the basement and his initial attack on his wings, removed Castiel's clothing and had shoved him against the grimy wall. His wings expanded, pulling up and around, encasing them in a smothering, fiery cocoon. Dean kneaded the bones that attached the wings to his back while grinding his swiftly forming erection against Castiel's.
"All day…I waited all fucking day for this." Dean growled, pulling his hands away reluctantly to shove his pants down. He forced Castiel's legs up and made sure he hooked his ankles behind his back before his hands ventured lower.
"Wanna fuck you so bad…" he groaned, hand coming to rest at the base of Castiel's spine. Castiel sought out Dean's mouth and moaned around his prodding tongue.
"Then do it…please…" he whimpered as he hesitantly touched the other's straining length. Castiel's wings opened against the brick, already covered in his oil, glistening in the dim light from above and Dean moaned at the invitation.
The sex was long, it was filthy, and Castiel loved every blessed minute of it. The burning beneath him and behind him and inside him was driving him to hysterics, and every time his back dragged against the brick wall from Dean's powerful thrusts he thought for sure that it was over for him. But he held on, he held on for Dean because Dean was the one that mattered. If Dean was not satisfied then he would never forgive himself.
He wept openly, pleading for Dean to move faster, harder. The answering rumble and snap of the man's hips were the only response he received before Dean threw him to the ground, mounting him like an animal. Castiel's wings sagged against the close walls, whispering and screeching down till he folded them in on himself, bunching up beneath Dean's sweat slicked chest.
The natural oils from his quivering wings mixed with the salt of the man's sweat, filling Castiel's mind with that heady scent. Dean leaned over his back, thrusting wildly, and crushed the wings beneath his chest, burying his face between them and Castiel's neck, smearing the excess oil over the side of his face, but he didn't care, he smelled so fucking amazing. The oil, already dripping over his angel's body and down to the floor, dragged out Castiel's scent, the scent that Dean always caught when the angel appeared before him. Grass, pine, and a hint of something sugary sweet. He lapped along the bunched up muscles and feathers presented so prettily before him and couldn't contain a groan at the taste, already panting for more. Castiel choked, breath hitching violently at the heavy, constant pressure on his sensitive spine and wings.
Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel's waist and stroked him in time with his thrusts. Castiel sobbed, leaning forward on his elbows and almost collapsed onto the dusty, oil slick cement floor if not for Dean's powerful grip on his hips.
Dean had been nearly silent the whole time, but now when his pace became erratic and deeper he moaned out Castiel's name, as well as several other choice words before coming deep into Castiel's sporadically clenching body. He had removed his hand from stroking Castiel close to the end to gain a firmer grip on the angel's weakening thighs, and the angel came without Dean's touch. The simple idea that Dean had connected to him on the deepest, most intimate level was enough to send him over the edge.
Now the only sound to be heard was their erratic breaths, intermingling as they shared a lazy kiss. Dean pulled Castiel around to lay him on his back and he stared down at his face before kissing him softly once again. They remained like that, entwined, for many long hours, punctuated by periods of slow yet rough lovemaking.
It was in the dark hours of the morning when Castiel finally spoke, voice hoarse from overuse.
"What are we going to do, Dean?"
It was a simple enough question, but Dean knew what remained unspoken, knew what silent question was asked and inadvertently answered. He sighed deeply, fingering a slick and oil clotted black feather and enjoying the over stimulated shudder it produced.
"We don't have to do anything, Cas. The war's over, Lucifer is…is back in the pit, and your angel buddies are gone. We can do whatever we want, whenever we want."
"Are you sure about this? Leaving Sam in the pit?"
"Everyone has a time…and I-I know it's not ideal…but there's nothing I can do, nothing you can do. And face it, with the things Sammy did, you really think he had a chance of getting into heaven?"
Castiel didn't reply.
Bobby became suspicious of their sudden closeness, something Castiel minded much more than Dean. Much more than Castiel let on.
He had never spoken to Bobby that much in the past, to Castiel he just happened to be there. A grumpy old man in a wheelchair, a man that had told him off for complaining about being human before their final battle with Lucifer. As if his loss was greater than Castiel's. Castiel had been an angel; a being not of the earth, not of earthly bounds, a being that a human would be incapable of mentally processing.
How could this man, this cripple before him, even begin to compare his loss of movement to Castiel's loss of divinity? His pure formlessness, he was air, he was light, he was everything, he was everywhere, now he was trapped in a single horrible form. A lowly human, an unholy and base being. He felt dirty, confined, like there was a thick and oily layer of something covering his body. The body that he suddenly felt with full clarity as he never had before, and that clarity was horrifying.
It was inequitable. It was unfair. It was unholy. It was punishable.
Dean was the only thing holding him back from killing the man. Not smiting, no, this was something baser, darker, this was pure violence he had planned. But he knew if he acted on it Dean would never forgive him. He didn't want that. He could wait.
But now…
Things were different. Things could easily go wrong. Anything could happen in a junkyard, the one Bobby frequently walked around in out of some form of nostalgia. The cars contained within were old and rusted, piled ridiculously high.
Dangerously high.
So it came as no surprise that early one morning Dean came across the old man in the middle of the yard. Dean had become suspicious when he had not come back to the house that past night and went in search of him. Castiel acted concerned, accordingly, and when Dean came across his crushed and mangled body, acted sorrowful.
That night they did not have sex, Dean merely cried into Castiel's great wings, fisting the feathers without heat, without need. Castiel smiled wryly, what did he expect? A week long sex marathon? No, not after Bobby's death. Bobby had been like a father to Dean, and he respected that, and gave Dean the distance he required during the day when he salted and burned the body of the only human that had remained in his life, and offered the love and devotion Dean needed at night.
Dean was his now.
He realized this late one night a few months later when Dean was close, so very close, to permanently damaging his mental state with the force of his thrusts. The man was angry, angry he had no one left. Apparently Cas didn't count because he was different, special. Dean wanted a human in his life, a human companion. A completely platonic relationship, mind you, and Castiel could probably indulge his need if he so wished.
But not now, not when Dean was so utterly his that he sobbed at the thought.
He could hold on to this moment for just a little…while…longer…
It was a little over a month later that Dean went to see Lisa and Ben. He hadn't contacted them since before the threat of the apocalypse, before he made himself so entirely Castiel's, and Lisa was shocked to see him outside her door.
He smiled wryly, actually glad to see her, almost forgetting the angel standing so close behind him. Of course he didn't bring Castiel with him, physically, but that didn't stop the angel from tagging along spiritually. He had to protect what was his after all.
"I-if it's not too late, I'd like to take you up on that beer?" Dean asked sheepishly, cracking a rather pitiful smile that almost made Castiel call the whole thing off just to whisk the man home to bury him in his wings and never let him leave their home ever again. Almost.
But he cared about Dean, recognizing the need he saw in his eyes. He didn't feel his presence was inadequate, on the contrary, he was jealous of Dean. He knew that humans desired contact with one another, and it was quite the same with angels. Castiel missed his garrison greatly, but did not want to see them. Above all he did not want to see how they would react at seeing him now, seeing what he had become in the name of a single broken soul.
Lisa smiled warily back at Dean, opening the door wider to invite him in.
"Of course, Dean. C'mon, it's cold out there…"
Dean didn't feel cold, he had been wrapped in his angel's wings, always and forever. He stepped inside and actually felt colder at the loss of his burnt, feathered refuge. But almost as soon as it was gone it appeared once more, and he visibly relaxed, breathing in the familiar stench of hell fire mixed so sinfully with pine and grace. He shuddered.
If Lisa noticed his subtle twitches, she did not mention it, and ushered him into the kitchen. Ben had been sitting at the table, drawing on paper with crayons, and his eyes lit up when he spotted the man he barely knew but loved so much.
"Dean!"
"Hey, Ben." Dean sighed, lifting him up in a tender embrace when the child ran and jumped at him.
Castiel looked on in envy. He wished he could give similar feelings to Dean, give something to him that would make his eyes sparkle like they did in that moment. His jealousy flared almost to anger, but he controlled himself. It was not the child's fault that Dean loved him so, and the love Dean felt for him and for the child were completely different sides of the same coin. So no, he did not hate Ben, he loathed Lisa, and her ability to give Dean what he so secretly wished he could have.
It would be almost too easy to destroy this woman, to let her melt away in the bared presence of his grace, to watch as her eyes bled down her face, listen as she screamed, hear her eardrums burst at the sound of his true voice speaking of such obscene things in her face the likes of which Castiel had not thought himself capable.
But no, Castiel could be patient. He needed this for now, needed Dean to heal. After Bobby's death he was not the same. He was either too angry or too upset to indulge Castiel's attentions, and most nights Castiel regretted ever starting anything to begin with as he tried to straighten out his awkwardly skewed feathers, picking up numerous longer feathers from the oil stained carpet and painstakingly reattaching them from where they had been cruelly plucked. Dean had formed a habit of taking his frustrations out on Castiel's wings, and Castiel was lucky they were so receptive to pleasure, otherwise he would be left shuddering in pain rather than bliss those dark and stifling nights.
So he watched as Dean mingled with these two humans for the remainder of the day, late into the night. Watched as he played games with Ben, talked softly with Lisa when the child fell asleep on Dean's lap, little head resting absently on the man's shoulder. Watched as Lisa attempted to invite Dean to her bed. His wings bristled in fury, and he inadvertently clipped his shoulder with one of the sharper charcoal black feathers, but ignored the trickle of blood that dripped to the lawn below him when his beautiful human refused her like a good boy and left the house in a silent rage.
Castiel was there in an instant, and caught Dean before he reached his car, embracing him with spirit and warmth, watching with smug glee when the woman ran out the door, possibly to apologize, before stopping in her tracks. He made himself visible to the hapless woman, wings and all, before stealing Dean's mouth in a vicious, horribly possessive kiss. It could hardly be labeled a kiss, it was all tongue and teeth, a battle for supremacy that Castiel unsurprisingly won, passion fueled by his equally burning rage.
He yanked Dean's head back with a harsh grip on the scruff of his neck, staring at the man's blissed out face before growling, "You are mine, Dean Winchester. I am pleased that you have not yet forgotten that fact." And he left in a flurry of wind and loose feathers.
Dean caught one absentmindedly before turning back to Lisa, suddenly grateful that he had already explained much of what had happened to him in the past few months. Up to Sam's descent to the pit of course. She did not need to know how closely attached to the angel he actually was. As if that dominance display wasn't hint enough.
He shrugged slightly, walking back to the door with her, holding the feather out for her to take. She was silent, but the silence was not awkward, just mutual. Dean had nothing to say, and neither did Lisa.
"I thought…" she trailed off, twirling the tawny feather in her fingers, staring at it as if it held all the answers she sought, or was wishing for it and its owner to spontaneously combust, either or. She swallowed harshly, fighting back bitter tears, "I thought we were something Dean. Thought we were going to make it work, for Ben…He looks up to you, Dean…How will you explain something like this to him?"
Something about the way she worded the questions, or how she spoke them, really pissed him off.
"There's nothing to explain, Lisa. He doesn't have to know. He's not my son, and you are not my wife. Castiel is not some mistress that I meet secretly in some dingy motel room. If anything I feel like I'm cheating him, meeting with you like this, talking with you like I have been, and if I've given you the wrong impression I'm sorry but…this isn't what you think it is." He motioned between the two of them harshly, and she dropped Castiel's feather, dropped like her hopes for a possible future with the man.
"I waited for you, Dean…" she gasped, not trying to stop the tears now. She felt like a fool, but didn't have the right mind to stop herself anymore.
"Castiel waited longer. He waited his entire life for me. I owe him a chance at least, and that chance was not wasted."
"But Dean, it's not right, it's not natural!"
"It's more natural than you think." Dean growled, feeling as if she somehow had insulted his angel. Castiel was perfect, there was nothing unnatural to him, to them. She just didn't see.
No one could.
Sammy couldn't, Bobby couldn't, and now Lisa couldn't.
He grit his teeth and set his jaw. He knew what he had to do, knew what Castiel had been whispering for him to do in his ear the whole conversation. His angel was proud of his devotion, and wanted to give him a gift.
A son.
But there was only room for two parents in their growing family.
Ben would understand.
He would have to.
heeee...i would really like to hear your thoughts! there's going to be a second part to this, so look forward to it. :)